


Fingertips | Fred Weasley

by pleasehelpanoldladyout



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Coming of Age, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Hogwarts, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29557836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasehelpanoldladyout/pseuds/pleasehelpanoldladyout
Summary: Isabel had no clue she was a witch; she didn’t even know magic was real. But when she accidentally travels back in time to July 31st, 1994, she finds herself in a magical world, one that she believed existed only in her dreams. Now, she has to deal with her new-found abilities and attend Hogwarts, all while the Wizarding World is on the brink of a second war. Her priority should be her crucial role in the prevention of Voldemort’s rising; but she can’t resist the cheeky red-haired boy, who makes an effort to make her blush every time they bump into each other in the halls.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome to 'Fingertips'! 
> 
> While the beginning will be pretty much following the events of the books, it will soon start to stray from them as the story progresses. I had to make up a lot of things for this story, so it will have a few things that do not exist in the Harry Potter universe at all. For these two reasons, I have used the 'Alternative Universe' tag.
> 
> This is ~kind of~ a slow burn, but there will eventually be romance and smut and all that, so just wait and see!
> 
> Hope you enjoy <3

Life was not exactly how Isabel had expected. When she woke up on the morning of July 31st of 2020 at 11am, she simply stared up at the ceiling and sighed. Usually, she would be up by 7, jumping off the bed with excitement, ready for a birthday party, or a birthday dinner, or a birthday brunch; really, anything but what she would do on that day.

She heard a soft thud on her bedroom door, and with the light that came from the hallway, her mother’s face peeped through the door.

“All good?” Isabel’s mother did not expect a more complex answer than the groan she was met with, but she thought it was worth the try, “Happy birthday, sweetie.”

“Yeah… happy, happy, _happy_ birthday to me,” she retorted, her tone sarcastic and bitter.

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad!” the grey-haired woman said expectantly, and Isabel rolled her eyes, “No, no, I mean it! Sure, you’re basically in house-arrest, much like everybody, really, but when this is all over you can throw the biggest, craziest, most extravagant and over the top party you’ve ever thrown. ‘Cause by then I’m sure people will be more than ready for some partying. Granted, it won’t be an actual birthday party, but what gives! It will still be a party nonetheless!”

Isabel gave her mother a forced smile. The more she heard everyone’s blind optimism, the more she thought it was worse than simply facing the music: the world was fucked. She had not left the house in months, was _utterly_ depressed, and had no will to live whatsoever. See, what her mother also didn’t know was that, on top of all the shit that was already happening, even if there _could_ have been a party, there would be no one attending it.

“Yeah, I know…” Isabel tried, but she could not mask the disappointment in her voice.

“Of course, you do!” she exclaimed in an overly cheery manner, “Now let’s get you up and going, I made your favourite breakfast…”

With this, Isabel’s mum left her alone. She took her time stretching, reluctant to go downstairs to another disappointment. But staring at the white, empty walls of her bedroom soon proved to be pretty boring.

She made her way downstairs, tripping on a faulty step, probably never once replaced since the house had been built in the Victorian era. Isabel shivered as she stepped down into the kitchen’s tile floor. Her mother was already sitting at the little breakfast nook and nodded at her to sit down by her side. However disappointed she was, Isabel could not help but smile at the sight in front of her; thick homemade crepes (maybe closer to pancakes, but her mother still insisted on calling them crepes) were piled on a plate in front of her.

“Thank you so much,” Isabel’s tone, for the first time of that day, sounded genuine, which made her mother’s eyes light up with joy.

“And I got up extra early and ran to the store to buy some Nutella!” her mother exclaimed, to which Isabel sighed, “Again, I know it isn’t much, but I am sure next year will be better… Nay, I _promise_ next year will be better. You’ll be back home, partying with your friends, you’ll visit grandma and grandpa… All the things you didn’t get to do this year.”

Isabel smiled at her mother’s words, but her contentment was short-lived when she remembered there would be no friends to go back to. She had been hiding their falling-apart, and how truly lonely and friendless she had been since she started college, from her mum, but she knew she would have to be honest soon enough. Yet she just kept constantly pushing it back, sometimes from shame, sometimes out of fear she would break down crying. No, it really had not been an easy year for Isabel.

The rest of her day was, as she had expected, uneventful. If so, her disappointment only managed to pile up even more, as she received no congratulatory messages from her last standing friend. So, Isabel was wasting her 19th birthday away playing the Sims and listening to Mitski (always a _great_ match for a happy birthday). However, after an entire day of hopelessly waiting, Isabel heard the familiar ringtone, her friend’s distorted face (carefully edited by Isabel to look like an alien) blinking on her phone’s screen.

“Jannah…” Isabel started, ready to tell off the smiley, curly-haired girl in front of her.

“Haaapy birthday!” she was cut off, as Jannah sang to her, “Now, I did _not_ forget about your birthday, I am just a very, extremely busy person, and you have to understand that.”

“You fucking bitch,” Isabel finally laughed, thankful that her friend had at least remembered before the end of the day, “Now, how’s Paris?”

“Well, a bit too French, really,” the two girls laughed, “How about Belfast? Finally feeling like home?”

“Not at all. I miss you. And I miss being back home. And I miss summer! Like, actual summer!”

“I know you do. I miss you too,” the girls were quiet for a second, but finally, Jannah cleared her throat, “I miss being back home, too, but you can’t live looking back on the past. And, really, who would’ve thought? All we wanted back then was to leave and now we can’t wait to come back.”

“Now, this is becoming a little too philosophical,” Isabel choked back tears. She felt relieved that Jannah didn’t seem to notice it, and so she changed the subject. “Well, on a lighter note, have you _seen_ Carla’s new Instagram post?”

“Jeez, from that to this in less than five minutes…” she laughed.

The girls continued to catch up on their adventures, gossiping about old friends, and celebrating Isabel’s birthday in the best way they could (which, sadly, was not very good).

“But wait, Isi,” Jannah managed to get out between laughs, “Did you see that video I sent you?”

“Jannah, you’re insanely addicted, you send me like 100 a day, how am I supposed to even know which one you mean?!”

“No… no!” Jannah pretended to be offended, but failed miserably and burst out laughing, “I am not, and I _do_ not. Anyways it was just this crazy dumb conspiracy theory I found; thought you’d like it.”

“Well, what was it?”

“Fucking go and watch!”

The conversation ended soon after; Jannah’s battery was running low and Isabel’s mother had called her down for dinner. Isabel went straight to her bedroom after eating; she was tired, she told her mother. But that wasn’t true. She just didn’t want her to ask her how her day had been, and she really didn’t want to lie about it.

She lied down on her twin-sized bed and scrolled through her phone, which was now a very common past-time activity for Isabel. She scrolled mindlessly through her social media for about an hour before she finally decided to watch the things Jannah had sent her. She sighed, annoyed, realizing she still had two weeks’ worth of unseen videos, which her best friend just would not stop sending. When she finally reached the video they had talked about, Isabel felt a shiver run down her neck. She watched it, contrary to the previous ones, attentively. ‘Harry Potter conspiracy theory #5’, the caption read. The overly enthusiastic girl went on a minute-long rant, about how some people believed the Harry Potter franchise was based on real-life events, and that magic was actually real. ‘Funny,’ Isabel thought, ‘But absolutely fucking mental’. However, in her state of chronic boredom, Isabel went on Reddit and researched the conspiracy theory.

She spent hours mindlessly reading Reddit threads, each one more outrageously nonsensical than the previous, until she finally reached something that didn’t seem like complete and utter shit.

“ _Old pages ripped out of the book seem to give instructions to actual magic ritual_?” Isabel read out loud, finally invested in one of the things she had read about that evening, “’ _Written in archaic English, the page mentions alternate realities, timelines, and the ability to time-travel’._ Seems legit,” Isabel added sarcastically.

However, as she looked at the pictures of the old, ripped book page, something deep inside her felt entranced by its hand-painted, flourished letters.

“Am I actually that bored that I’m trying a fake “magic trick” I found on the Internet…?” she stopped for a second, “Well, yeah, I am.”

She downloaded the picture and the translation and re-read them countless times, struggling to fully grasp the instructions.

“Alright,” she sighed, “This tells me to visualize the place, universe, year, and what I look like in this reality. Well…” she looked down at the notes she had scribbled on a loose piece of paper, so as to not forget any details, “Well, maybe I want to show up at the Burrow! Yeah, that would be cool…” she scrabbled messily, “And... Ooh! It would be cool to watch the Triwizard tournament! It was in 1994, right? I’ll have to check that. So, maybe, July 1994. And the universe? Well, the Harry Potter universe? What am I supposed to say here I- anyways, finally, what will I look like? I mean, 16 seems like a fair age… I guess I’ll just look like what I did when I was sixteen!”

She held out the messy piece of paper in front of her. She read the warning below the instructions, ‘Don’t perform if unprepared’.

“Fuck it. It’s bullshit, it won’t even work, so what’s the use. I _really_ am going mental.”

She read the ominous Latin words she had to recite out loud one final time, before setting the paper down on her nightstand and sprawling across her bed.

“Alright so. Visualize, Isi. It’s easy,” she breathed out heavily, then continued “The Burrow; July 1994. You’ve just turned 16. It’s easy. Alright… _Tantum illis in virtute autem per tempus itinerantur, poterit sectaris. Tempusmagus nomen est tibi. Opinor me in hoc mundo. Im 'demissam demergi totam. Im 'demissam demergi totam. Im 'demissam demergi totam…_ ”

As Isabel drifted off to sleep, she heard the melodic chirp of birds in a soft summer breeze, and a soft, youthful voice, a yell, drowned out by the ethereal ringing on her ears, “Mum, there’s a girl here…”


	2. The Burrow

Isabel’s eyes fluttered open, but she couldn’t make out her surroundings. The room felt too bright, like someone had just opened the windows without letting her recover from the darkness. Her body hurt; she was sore all over, and she felt a hammering pain in her temple that made it difficult to think. The surrounding quiet was disturbed by a faint whisper she couldn’t really make out. Finally, she rubbed the tiredness out of her eyes and opened them fully, looking straight at a curious-faced redhead boy.

“MUM, she’s awake!” the boy shouted, startling Isabel.

She looked around the small room, a puzzled look on her face, her eyebrows furrowing and twitching as she took in her cosy, yet unfamiliar surroundings. She was lying in a small bed with a red duvet, pushed against one of the walls of a tiny bedroom. The red-haired boy sat on an identical bed, pushed against the opposite wall of the room. He looked at her, an obvious hint of curiosity in his eyes.

“You know, that is my bed you’re lying in,” he told her, in an attempt to lighten the mood or even spark a conversation, “No need to thank me, of course.”

He laughed, but was met with nothing but Isabel’s bewildered eyes, wide open and staring right at him. Suddenly, the girl let out a terrified yelp. She started feeling around frantically, touching her face, then the covers, then jumping out of the bed, letting out a shrilled scream when she felt her feet touch the wooden floor.

“MUM,” the boy realized he needed backup, “You better get up here, I think she needs your help! Listen, is everything alright, do you need a cup of water or, or- do you understand English?” he questioned when he rested his hand on her shoulder but all she did in response was pull away at the touch.

“Where am I?!” Isabel finally screamed. Her mind was moving at a million miles per second, the realization of where she was and who she was with driving her crazy.

“Uhm, well, we’re at my house! You showed up here last night, remember? You apparated in my yard…” Isabel looked at him, perplexed, her expression indecipherable to the poor boy, “Well, my name is George… and yours is?” he tried to get her to speak, his tone quiet, soft and patient, afraid she would snap and start screaming once again. To his luck, it seemed to calm her just a bit.

“I- I apparated here? As in, with… with magic?” she inquired, her eyes the most open they’d been thus far.

“Uhm… Yeah. Is there… any other way to do it?”

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my-“ she started whispering incessantly, and George sighed in relief when he finally heard his mum’s tiny but heavy footsteps running up the stairs, accompanied by what seemed to be at least two of his siblings. The door burst open, and a short and stubby red-haired lady came in, a tray full of food balanced in one of her arms, which she set down at the foot of the bed George was sitting in. Behind her, two fiery-haired kids, who both appeared younger than the one sitting in the bed across from her, reluctantly peeked through the doorway.

“Oh, dear, is everything alright?” she asked, genuinely concerned, “It just had to be… the minute I set foot out of this room to cook us breakfast, you wake up! I’ve been here all night waiting to see if you were ok, I didn’t even shut my eyes for a single second… And you had to wake up just when Georgie was filling up for me!” the woman noticed Isabel was about to speak, but she cut her off, “Now, now, don’t worry dear, this is my fault I should have just asked Ginny here to make us some scrambled eggs, you see, I don’t trust my boys with that task, but I’m getting off track now. I’m Molly Weasley, dear, could you tell me your name?”

Isabel really could not believe what she was seeing. Surely, the ritual had not worked? Surely, she was dreaming, or even hallucinating she was there? Because there is no way she would actually be at the Burrow, standing in front of George, Molly, Ginny and Ron Weasley. She could not, because they were not real.

“I’m dreaming, aren’t I? I’m gonna wake up and all this is going to be a silly little dream.” Isabel started pinching her arm, “Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up for fucks sake!”

“Dear, there’s no need for a fit, you’re alright!” Molly said, clearly disturbed by the terrified girl in front of her, “Now, don’t hurt yourself, please, calm down. Lay on the bed, honey, please. It’s alright.”

Although Isabel hesitated, she did what the sweet woman in front of her asked. She laid down, her body stiff under the covers. Molly tucked her in, and she relaxed a bit further, allowing her head to sink against the pillows that supported her neck.

“I’m Isabel.” She finally spoke, after taking a few calming breaths.

“Well, Isabel, it is very nice to meet you! Now…” she looked at her older son, appearing to be looking for some moral support, which she got in the shape of a curt nod, and then proceeded, “We want to know, well, how you got here, really…”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I- I mean exactly that. How did you get here? It’s been boggling our minds, really. You look far too young to apparate… You materialized in! Our! Yard!” she exclaimed, pronouncing every word separately, but she was left intrigued when she noticed the deeply confused look in Isabel’s face, “Dear, we have more protective spells on this house than we could possibly even count! All set by Dumbledore himself! So, there is no way any wizard could possibly breach those protections the way you did, much less a wizard your age…”

When Isabel heard those words, something clicked inside of her. Dumbledore! He was the one she would have to speak to about all that was happening. He was the one who could tell her just why and how the ritual had worked. Despite her sudden urgency, Isabel remained calm, not wanting to startle her host family even further.

“Well,” she started, not really sure what to say. She couldn’t possibly tell them the truth, they would think she was mad, and probably not believe her at all. But what could she say? “I don’t know, actually. Don’t really remember getting here at all…”

“I guess that’s fair, you seemed to be passed out the moment you landed in our yard!” Molly laughed, but it sounded fake, maybe even nervous. Isabel felt a pit of guilt in her stomach; she had never meant to cause anyone discomfort, she had never meant to be a burden, “But you see…”

“Mum’s scared you might be with You-Know-Who. You know, be one of his goons,” George cut her off mid-sentence.

“George Weasley, that’s no way to speak to our guest!” she yelled, slapping him across the head. Isabel’s eyes opened wide at the boy’s suggestion, taking a second to fully grasp what he meant.

“Wait, no, no, no! You mean Voldemort? I can assure you I am not one of his followers!”, the Weasleys all shivered at that word; not many wizards had the nerve to pronounce his name.

“Well, it’s settled then, I guess.” Ginny finally spoke, mockingly, with a daring smirk. Molly shot her down with her eyes, and her amusement died down.

“Dear, the problem is, we can’t just trust a stranger. You seem like a very nice young lady, but so did many other Dark Wizards who did awful, dreadful, unspeakable things! How are we supposed to know you’re not just posing as an innocent young girl?”

“Well, there’s magic, right? I’m sure there must be a way to prove I’m not here to harm you?!” Isabel wailed, more to herself than to anyone else in the room, “There’s Veritaserum, right? That’s a thing! I think… You could use it on me!”

“Oh, dear, even if we wanted to use Veritaserum, it’s still very hard to acquire, and its use is highly regulated. We can’t just give it to you, there’s a whole legal process involved and…”

“I say we call Professor Dumbledore!” finally, the shy ginger that stood at the door gave his opinion; however, as he reached the end of his suggestion, he hesitated, afraid of his family’s judgement. “He’ll know what to do in this situation, right?”

Isabel’s eyes lit up at this suggestion, “Yes! Oh my God, yes, please! Call Dumbledore!”

“I guess you’re right, Ron. I’ll owl him,” the woman sighed, “And Isabel, sweetie, I don’t mean to be a terrible host, but… For our own protection, and, again, I’m sorry if this is all just a big misunderstanding, you’ll have to stay in this room. That is, until Professor Dumbledore arrives.”

Isabel nodded, and the Weasleys exited the room, leaving her alone with her own thoughts.


	3. Professor Dumbledore

Isabel finally had a moment to herself. She still hadn’t quite processed what had just happened. She was… somewhere. She still wasn’t sure if she was where she thought she was. Deep down, Isabel still believed that, somehow, this was an insanely vivid dream, and that soon enough she would just wake up in her bedroom, realizing how dumb she had been to actually believe such a thing would ever be possible. But, looking around the twin’s small, messy, lived-in room, she couldn’t help but think how impossibly _real_ it all felt. When she touched the bed’s duvet, it felt like actual linen, soft against her palms; when she walked around the wooden floor, it felt rough and rugged beneath her feet; and when she touched her hair, or her face, it felt like real life. Outside the window, a beautiful sunrise on the horizon, birds chirped, and bees flew around the flowery fields. She could hear the soft summer breeze and feel the warmth of the day’s first sun rays shining through the smudgy, dusty windowpanes. 

Isabel walked over to a small dark wood dresser in front of one of the beds and stood in front of the mirror placed on top of it. She couldn’t believe what she was staring at; she looked like herself, only about five centimetres shorter, her hair longer, her overgrown bangs nowhere to be seen. Her features looked younger: she was scrawnier, her hips slightly narrower and her breasts a couple cups smaller. She was sixteen. She looked exactly the way she did when she was a sixteen-year-old, exactly three years ago. 

“No fucking way…” she muttered as her fingertips ran across her soft, blushing cheeks. 

She stared at herself in the mirror for a while, taking in the differences, trying to feel herself at home again in her old body. Suddenly, about an hour after the Weasley’s had left her alone, she heard a ruckus outside. The sound of garden gnomes shrieking and flowerpots breaking echoed across the meadow where the Burrow stood.

“Oh, sorry Albus!” she heard Mrs. Weasley yell faintly, the windows muffling the sound, but not enough for it to be inaudible, “The kids have been trying to kick those little bastards out of the garden and they must have misplaced those pots…”

“No problem, Molly. Now, about our little situation…”

The voices became softer, and Isabel couldn’t quite make out what they were saying anymore. She knew, however, that she was the ‘situation’ they were talking about. She had spent about twenty minutes already rehearsing what she would tell Albus Dumbledore when he arrived at the Burrow. However, when she heard the footsteps coming down the hallway, and saw Dumbledore’s imponent, robed figure enter through the door, she was at a loss for words. He looked Isabel’s small frame up and down, trying to decide if she was a physical threat. 

“Well, shall we?” the man pointed behind his back with his thumbs. It appeared that she wasn’t an immediate threat after all. Isabel nodded. Given a response, the old wizard turned his back and started making his way down the stairs.

“Molly, if you don’t mind,” he said when they passed through the kitchen “we need some privacy, and there’re just far too many people here to attain it. I thought we’d use the shed?”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s no problem… Just be on lookout for spiders, Arthur hasn’t cleaned it in a while.”

“Will do, Molly. No worries.”

The path to the shed, although relatively short, seemed to last ages, as Dumbledore and Isabel walked in silence side-by-side. Having reached the shed’s door, Dumbledore waved his wand to open it, a creepy screech denouncing its lack of use. With another wave of his wand, several candles lit up across the dusty structure. Dumbledore made his way to a rusty old metal lawn chair, waving his hand around the seat to rid it of any spiders. He fell back onto the chair in a relaxed manner, and conjured a fluffy brown chair, motioning for Isabel to sit on it, which she obeyed. She tried to find a comfortable position to rest on the seat, but struggled, and settled for crossing her right leg on top of the left, which left her in a tense and unnatural position. As she struggled for comfort, Dumbledore stared at her through his half-moon glasses, a playful, knowing smirk hiding behind his fluffy beard.

“So,” he began, “I don’t think you’re one of Voldemort’s followers,” Isabel sighed, relieved, and was about to start speaking when the man cut her off, “However, I still don’t know if your intentions are pure.”

“I understand,” Isabel agreed, defeated.

“I must ask you a few questions, now,” Dumbledore leaned forward, his face only inches from hers, “Did you, or did you not know, Harry Potter was supposed to be arriving here today, at the Weasley’s house?”

“Harry Potter…” Isabel repeated after the old man “No, sir, I did not. I really had no idea.”

He nodded, “Well, did you know this is where Harry Potter usually comes to spend some of his holidays? Did you know he _could_ be at the Weasley’s home?”

Isabel struggled to come up with an answer; she _did_ know all those things, but admitting to it

“I did, but…”

“But? So, you know things that only someone really close to either Harry Potter or the Weasleys could possibly know! What does that make of you? Because I know for a fact you aren’t either.”

“Listen, it’s not what you think, I just- I-“

“Yes?”

“You’ll think I’m crazy. Hell, _I_ think I’m crazy.”

“Well, try me.”

Isabel took a deep breath, “I’m from the future.”

Dumbledore’s expression was indecipherable. Isabel struggled to see if he had believed her or not. Yet, despite being only met by Isabel’s confusion, Dumbledore kept starring deeply into her brown eyes.

“I see,” he finally remarked, his hands resting against each other, and his gaze finally somewhere but Isabel’s perplexed face.

“You see?”

“Yes,” he brought his gaze back to her face, seeming to be examining it closely, “I just don’t see how it could be possible.”

“So, you believe I’m from the future?” Isabel felt relieved like a weight had just been lifted from her chest and she could finally breathe in deeply.

“I’m certain. I just wonder how?”

“Well, I’ve been asking myself the same thing…”

“There must be something you’ve done to get here…”

“Actually, there was,” Dumbledore almost got up from his chair at her words, “I, well, you won’t know what I’m talking about, but there’s this thing- Uhm- it’s called the internet, and I found some pictures of a spell book or something and I performed a ritual… I never thought it would actually work, you see, I didn’t think for a second magic could ever, possibly be real, but…”

“A ritual?” Dumbledore interrupted her, “What sort of ritual?”

Isabel looked at his face, scared of what his genuinely perplexed expression might mean.

“Well, it was this page in old English, and someone translated it…” 

“Keep going.”

“Well, it said those with some ‘special abilities’ or something of that sort could, I don’t know, like, time travel?”

“Is that true?” his interjection sounded genuine.

“Uhm, yeah. Uhm… and there were these weird Latin words I had to recite over and over and…”

“ _Im 'demissam demergi totam_.”

“What?”

“Those were the words you had to recite, correct?” Dumbledore laughed, an expression of what seemed to be pure joy taking over his face, ‘ _Im 'demissam demergi totam_.’”

“Oh, yes. Those were the words.”

“Unbelievable…” Dumbledore’s words left Isabel even more confused, “Truly remarkable.”

“I’m sorry if this sound dumb, sir, but what is ‘truly remarkable’?”

“You… uh…?” 

“Isabel. My name’s Isabel.”

“Isabel, right, Isabel we didn’t have time to properly introduce ourselves. I’m Professor Albus Dumbledore. Isabel, you’ve stumbled upon an extremely powerful magic ritual, one that can only be performed by those with very special, very rare abilities!”

“I have what now?”

“Isabel, have you ever heard of a _Tempusmagus_?”

“I- listen, I didn’t even know magic was real two days ago! I thought the ritual was a joke! I was just bored,” Isabel’s frustrations were shining through in her voice, “I just did it ‘cause I was BORED and somehow I travelled in time!”

“You didn’t travel through time, dear. Oh, it’s much more than just that! You have travelled to a different dimension, a completely different timeline to yours! And I’m sure that, if you think about it, you will remember these words: _Tempusmagus_. Think about it!”

Finally, something lit up inside Isabel, “The ritual! Those words were in the middle of the weird Latin text!”

“Exactly!” Dumbledore cheered, “That ritual, if I’m not mistaken, comes from a very old book, which I happen to keep in my own private library! I believe the Latin text you had to recite roughly translates to ‘Only those with the power to travel through time, will be able to follow through. Tempusmagus is your name.’”

“Oh…” Isabel was feeling a little stupid that she hadn’t bothered to research what the Latin text meant, “And what does it mean?”

“It means you’re a one-of-a-kind witch, Isabel! There have not been any new Tempusmagus in centuries! It’s an extremely rare ability; it must be inherited, and even those who come from bloodlines where this power has manifested rarely ever have it. It’s, like I believe you young people like to say, a one in a million chance.” he noticed her genuinely amazed expression, “Do you really not know what this means?”

She shook her head, “Like I said, I never thought magic was real. As far as I know, magic doesn’t exist where I come from… Or, at least, if it does, I had no idea.”

“Well, I must say, for you to be here right now, magic most definitely does exist in your timeline. However, I must say, I’m intrigued as to why you, a witch, a _Tempusmagus_ above it all, had no idea it existed! I assume you must come from a pretty ancient bloodline…”

“But… how would you know all this, really? I’m just- I’m so confused!” she sobbed.

“Alright, this will be a bit complicated, but I’ll explain it to you. It’s exactly what the ritual says; only wizards with these certain abilities will be able to perform it: _Tempusmagus_! No other wizard without this power would ever be able to perform that type of magic! The same book from which you read the ritual states clearly in the page before it; Tempusmagus are one of the most powerful kinds of wizards, for they have the universe at their fingertips.”

“That’s… insane! And you said inherited, as well, but… No one in my family has powers! How would it be possible?!”

“Five minutes ago you didn’t believe you had powers either, Isabel!”

Isabel brooded over Dumbledore’s words; maybe it was true. Maybe, that dumb conspiracy theory wasn’t wrong, and maybe it really wasn’t dumb at all.

“If all this is real, and I’m not just having a crazy dream, then how come I didn’t know about magic when I was back in my timeline? How, if I really am a witch?”

“Well, that’s the right question, Isabel. That really is the right question… All that we know right now is that you are a young, powerful, promising witch!”

“Wow…” Isabel couldn’t help but contain her smile; this is all she’d ever dreamed of when she was younger.

“I do still have a few questions for you, though. That is, if you don’t mind?”

“Oh, not at all!”

“Brilliant, well, I guess the first one is: what year did you travel here from?”

“From 2020, Professor.”

“2020?! Remarkable, truly remarkable!” he took a moment to smile, absentmindedly, continuing to whisper to himself, “2020…!”

Isabel cleared her throat and the man snapped back into reality. 

“Oh, right. I’m guessing the word will be pretty different, all that time from now?”

“I recon it is, sir. Insanely different.”

“Marvelous. Now, you’re not British, I see.” Isabel confirmed with a shake of her head, “You could be American, but I don’t think you are…”

“No, I’m not. I’m Portuguese, actually.”

“Right, right, interesting. And were you your _current_ age?”

“No, I was not. I- I think I’m sixteen now, but, well- just yesterday I was nineteen… And it’s the strangest thing, I really do feel like I’m sixteen again. It’s like, my brain,” she struggled to put it into words, “regressed? Much like my body.”

“Well, of course. You are sixteen in this timeline, it must’ve been the age you picked during the ritual… Ah, truly remarkable!”

“Oh- right.”

“And tell me, this is really blowing me away… if you had no previous knowledge of magic, just how did you know, well, any of this existed, really? We’ve talked about Harry Potter, and magic, and things only people who have lived to see the Wizarding World would know and, yet you hadn’t, but you did! You also knew I was a professor, even though I hadn’t mentioned it at all!”

“I don’t know how to explain this without sounding even crazier, but…” Isabel took a deep breath, “This is all… books.”

Dumbledore looked at her, genuinely intrigued.

“Harry Potter is a book series, a very famous one at that… I’ve read about all this happening!”

“Well, this just keeps getting more and more unusual. I suppose, if you’ve ‘read’ about all this happening, just like you said, you would know what’s about to happen…”

“I guess… what year is it, sir?”

“This is the year 1994. It’s July 31st, 1994. Was this the year you had intended?”

“Yes! Oh my, and it’s July 31st? Today is my birthday!”

“Congratulations! I take it you know today is also Harry Potter’s birthday?”

“That’s right! We share a birthday… But, besides that, I…” she took a second to think about a significant event she could remember from the stories, “Well, I know that this year the Triwizard Tournament will be happening at Hogwarts!”

“Wow! Truly remarkable!” Dumbledore looked at a broomstick contemplatively, “Now that I think about it, you would mean a great advantage on our fight against Voldemort. You know who he is, I believe?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you reckon you remember enough of those ‘books’ to be able to predict some more, ahem… major events?”

“I’m sure!” Isabel was ecstatic. 

“Impressive! Amazing!” Dumbledore laughed and jumped from his chair with joy, “This is truly a major advantage for us!”

“I guess it is!” Isabel joined in on the excitement. 

“Miss Isabel, since we’ve now concluded that you are, in fact, a wizard, you simply must attend Hogwarts! I’ll speak to the other professors and send your admission letter as soon as I leave! That way, you’ll be just where you need to be!”

“That all sounds awesome but…” her excitement died down, “I don’t know anything about magic, at least not in practice… How can I possibly attend Hogwarts if… you know?”

“I’m sure we’ll work something out. It is _critical_ that we find a way for you to attend our school. And now, don’t worry about money, I have just the right solution.”

“Really, thank you so much, Professor! This is… really… a dream come true! I never thought I’d be attending Hogwarts. Ever!”

“I am glad you think so fondly of Hogwarts, but I must warn you… Your powers, your knowledge… It all puts you in grave danger! Just us speaking of this so openly could be a one-way ticket to your death, Miss Isabel. You ought to keep everything you know to yourself. Only a select group of people, all of whom I trust with my life, will know about this conversation. Do you understand?”

“I- I do, sir. I really do,” but in reality, she hadn’t even thought about it before Dumbledore had pointed it out.

“Now, I’m afraid that, because of our circumstances, our conversation must cease right in this instant. I am going to speak to Molly Weasley and explain the situation to her- very broadly, of course, I won’t get into too much detail. For now, I believe you can stay with the Weasleys. You can speak openly to both Arthur and Molly about your ‘situation’, but I would refrain from disclosing it to the kids…”

“I understand.”

“Now, if you wish to communicate with me, all you have to do is send me an owl… Or if you’re unsure how to do that, ask Molly for help, I’m sure she’ll be delighted to do so. Despite this conversation’s early demise, I just want to let you know I am eager to learn more about what you know, Isabel. Now, let’s walk back to the house together.”

When they arrived at the Weasley’s kitchen, it was now Molly’s turn to be pulled aside by Dumbledore. She was staring directly at Isabel as he explained to her quietly the situation they were in. Finally, Dumbledore waved goodbye to both of them and exited the house, disapparating about halfway through the path to the shed.

“Now… Welcome to the Burrow, dear!”


	4. Harry Potter Arrives at the Burrow

“Thank you so much Mrs. Weasley, really!” Isabel exclaimed as the woman hugged her once again.

“Oh, no need for this fancy terminology around here… Call me Molly, dear.”

Molly Weasley had practically forced Isabel to sit down at the kitchen table for a mid-morning snack.

“Just to make up for this misunderstanding, Isabel, dear,” she’d told her, “I really am sorry, but you must know, you can never be too careful!”

Isabel was now on her second serving of delicious homemade lemon pie; as soon as Molly noticed she had wiped her plate clean of the first slice, she’d tapped her plate with her wand, making a second one appear magically, without even asking if she was still hungry. Isabel, however, didn’t complain. After all that she’d been through, she was actually pretty ravenous. As she wiped the plate clean of her second dose, Molly already getting up from her seat, ready to serve her once again, a startling noise of things breaking was heard coming from the living room.

“Merlin’s beards look at the mess you’ve made!” she scolded her family, looking at the state of her previously spotless home. 

“I think they’ve just got home!” Ron yelled from upstairs, his footsteps heavy as he ran down the steep staircase from his bedroom.

“Amazing Ron, you’ve managed the state the obvious,” Ginny mocked him sarcastically, beating him to the living room by mere seconds. Usually, Mrs. Weasley would reprimand the kids on their attitude, but at that moment she was far too focused on the mess to care. George came right after Ron, lazily walking with his hands in his pockets. 

“Welcome to the Burrow, Isabel! I’m sure you’ll have a great time” he told her as he walked past the entrance to the kitchen. Loud laughter was heard coming from the two boys that had just come out of the fireplace, completely covered in ashes, and grabbing their bellies from their shared hysteria.

“I cannot believe that actually happened! Bloody genius mate,” a boy with tar-black hair managed to get out in between laughs.

“Thank you, fine sir. George and I appreciate the appraisal!” a boy, identical to the one standing right in front of her, took a bow to accompany his overly formal words. However, the boys’ playfulness died down when they noticed Mrs. Weasley’s unamused expression.

“Where the hell is your father?” she turned to the tall ginger boy, whose hair was now grey from the fireplace.

“Ay, don’t put the blame on me right off the bat, mother, it isn’t always my fault when things go south!”

“Well, was it your fault this time, though, Fred? Was it?!”

“It might have been,” he struggled to contain a chuckle. Suddenly, the tiny woman jumped forward, grabbing hold of her son’s ear.

“Listen to me, Fred Weasley…” she was interrupted by something colliding with some flowerpots outside.

“Someone really ought to put those back in the right place, Merlin!” an exhausted-looking Arthur Weasley came into the kitchen and walked to the living room, where Molly’s hand had not yet freed her son’s ear, “Fred, what did you give the Dursley boy?! His tongue grew to be four feet long, you complete and utter idiot!”

“Wicked…” George whispered, however not quietly enough for it to go unnoticed by his furious mother.

“Alright, boys!” she barked at the twins, “That is _it_! I am taking these bloody experiments away from you, and you are forbidden to ever invent anything of the sort under my roof ever again!” she was searching Fred’s pockets as she spoke, throwing the gums she found in them into the fireplace. Both the boys stared sadly at their work being destroyed, “And you…” she turned to Harry, “Happy birthday, dear. I’m so glad you got to join us!”

Ron scoffed at her mother’s change of attitude towards his best friend.

“Mrs. Weasley, it’s so nice to see you again,” the boy hugged the woman, who finally let go of her poor son’s already sore, blood-red year, “Wasn’t Hermione supposed to come today as well?”

“Dear, don’t forget, call me Molly. And yes, I believe Arthur will leave soon to go pick her up at the train station…”

“Sorry, my love, I had no idea there would be such a setback…” he looked at his wrist-watch, “Oh, Merlin I really am late! I’ll see you soon Molly, “He turned to Fred, “We’ll talk about what happened later, young man,” and with this he exited the house, disapparating in the exact same spot Dumbledore had, earlier that day.

“Alright, great!” Mrs. Weasley sighed, “Well, the rest of the boys should also be arriving soon, as well. I’m still _furious_ at you, Fred, but I will deal with you later; first, I want to properly welcome our guests!”

Finally, Ron, who was standing in a corner, afraid of upsetting his mother, walked over to his best friend and hugged him tightly.

“I’m so glad you could make it, Harry.”

“I’m glad I got here in one piece, with what went down at the Dursleys… But I guess I better not mention it, or else it’ll send your mum into a spiral again,” he whispered this last part, so Mrs. Weasley wouldn’t hear it.

While the old friends greeted each other, and the rest of the family welcomed Harry at their home, Isabel stood quietly beneath the archway that separated the kitchen and the living room. Social situations had never been her cup of tea, and her shyness was taking the best of her. She fiddled around with her feet awkwardly, realizing she had only been wearing woollen socks on her feet the whole time she’d been at the Burrow. When she looked up, she caught a pair of eyes staring right at her, a playful smirk smeared across the boy’s face. She looked away when their eyes met, playing with her hair to mask her nervousness in front of the long-haired ginger boy.

“I see we’ve figured out she isn’t working for the _Dark Lord_ , after all…” Fred Weasley teased, amused at the girl’s shyness. 

“Right, oh, dear! With all this mess I forgot to properly introduce our _other_ guest to everyone,” heads turned towards Isabel’s awkward figure, and she felt her cheeks go red at the attention she was getting, “This is Isabel and indeed, _Fred_ ,” she spat out his name, clearly mad at his cheekiness, “she is _not_ a Death Eater!”

No one really knew what to say; Harry had not even noticed the little brunette girl was there, in a corner, watching his every move, unable to actually believe she was standing in front of the _real_ Harry Potter. The Weasley kids stared at her, Ron shy and afraid to speak to her, out of fear of embarrassing himself, and the twins teasingly staring her up and down, clearly amused at the blush that formed in her cheeks. Finally, Ginny was the first to walk over to the introverted girl and hugging her.

“Welcome to our house, Isabel. I’m Ginny, and I’m sure we’ll be great friends!”

Isabel laughed, relieved that she was being welcomed in such a warm, comforting manner, “Thank you so much… Really, thanks.”

All those present said their hellos to her, hugging her and trying to get her to feel more at home in their humble house.

“Are you comfortable in those clothes, Isabel? They seem a bit chilly; I know it’s summer, but nights can get pretty cold at the Burrow…!” Ginny inquired.

Isabel was wearing nothing more than tiny pyjama shorts and a tank top, “Yeah, I am a bit cold actually.”

“Then come on, you can borrow any of my clothes, really. Especially the old ones I’ve been trying to get mum to throw out for ages…”

“Ginerva…!”

“Sorry, mum!” Ginny grimaced at Isabel, mocking her mother’s reaction, and grabbed her hand, guiding her upstairs to her bedroom.

“I never thought you were mental or anything, for that matter…” Ginny stated, closing her bedroom door, “Mum can be a bit kooky sometimes. Paranoid, even… But with Harry Potter coming over this often one has got to be careful. I take it you know who Harry Potter is?” she inquired, to which Isabel nodded, “Right, who doesn’t. He’s good friends with my brother Ron, you see, the one that was afraid to talk to you. He’s a bit of a loser when it comes to girls, isn’t really used to being addressed by them.”

The girls laughed, and Ginny opened her tiny closet to reveal an amount of clothes that would never in a million years fit in it if it wasn’t for magic. She started tossing out old jeans and t-shirts, sometimes taking an item in her hands, saying ‘No, not this one’, and throwing it back inside. After a couple minutes, there was already quite a pile next to Isabel on Ginny’s bed.

“Now, go on, you can pick whatever you like… those are the things I don’t really use anymore.”

“You reckon these will really fit me? They seem like they’d be a bit tight.”

“What’d you mean? They seem like they’d be perfect!”

Isabel had forgotten she was back in her younger, smaller, less developed body. It was weird, changing so much so suddenly. She picked up a loose, white, summer dress.

“My mom got that for me in hopes I would ‘dress up’ more often… You can pick something less, uhm... _girly_ if you'd like?"

Isabel, a bit overwhelmed by how different the clothes were compared to what she was used to in 2020, had only picked the most timeless item out of the late 80s and early 90s mess that pile of clothes was. “It’s alright, it seems like a good fit for a nice summer day,” she chuckled.

“Fair enough! At night you can get something else to wear as pyjamas,” Ginny didn’t push the matter any further, “Also, you can keep these shoes,” she pointed at an old pair of yellow Converse buried beneath another pile of clothes, “They’re not much but they serve their purpose. I’ll head out now, let you get dressed. You can come down to the living room when you’re done!”

“Cool, that’s cool. Thanks, Ginny!”

“No problem,” and with that, the girl closed the door.

Isabel sighed. With all that had been going on, she hadn’t even given her situation a proper thought, “Oh, my God…! Oh! My! God!”, she exclaimed, finally processing what it meant to be at the Burrow, with the Weasleys, and Harry Potter, and all those people she’d read about, “How is this not a dream… it feels like a dream come through!”

She couldn’t help but think, however, of the logistics of it all; she had travelled back in time, to the 90s, she was three years younger than she was supposed to be, and she had no idea how to come back, _if_ she could ever come back, to her dimension. And yet, she wondered, did she really want to come back? She was living out her oldest fantasy! Magic was real, she was a witch, and she got to meet all these people she loved and admired from her favourite childhood books! 

“Let’s not think about that for now,” she told herself, “Let’s just enjoy it while we’re here, and then we can ask Dumbledore about _all_ of this…”, suddenly, she remembered… Dumbledore had asked her to tell him all she knew about major events that were to happen in the future, “Fuck, the Quidditch World Cup! That’s why Harry Potter is here, I have to warn him about the attack!”

She looked around Ginny’s room for a pen or something she could write with, but when she spotted a feather and parchment, she realized that was the best she was going to get. She ripped a little square out of the parchment, and carefully, so as to not completely smudge the ink, she wrote all she could remember about the Death Eater attack. Finally, she had finished writing her letter, but she remembered, once again, that sending it wouldn’t be a piece of cake.

“Alright, this is all magic, if I’m not wrong… I just have two write his name, A-L-B-U-S D-U-M-B-L-E-D-O-R-E,” she spelt it out as she wrote it on the back of the paper, “And get an owl! But how do you call an owl? _Pspsps_ , any owls out here?" she whispered out the open window, but, not to her surprise, with no use, “I guess I’ll just go downstairs and ask for help.”

She put on the flowy dress, struggling to get the zipper up but too embarrassed to ask anyone for help. She looked at herself in the mirror, the bright yellow Converse clashing perfectly with the white dress, giving her a crazy, yet sweet look. She observed her features once again, so familiar yet so foreign, and she felt good. The dress hugged her hips perfectly, falling off her behind in just the right way; the cut was a little low, but looked dainty and elegant, all while still being comfortable and youthful. She breathed in, gathering up the courage to go downstairs to all the Weasleys, and opened the door.

When she got to the living room, it was a lot fuller than when she’d left. A beautiful girl with wild, light brown hair sat on the couch, in between Harry and Ron. Two older boys talked to Mr. Weasley in front of the fireplace, both as muscular and attractive as they were intimidating. And next to Mrs. Weasley, yet another ginger boy, sporting nerdy glasses, seemed to bombard her with information she had no interest in, obvious in her face that she was tired of the boy’s shenanigans. 

“Isabel, dear, meet the rest of my boys!” she introduced her to Bill and Charlie, who both greeted her enthusiastically, and finally, Percy, who simply gave her an acknowledging nod, going right back to whatever he was already ranting about.

“Do you need anything, dear?” Molly asked, noticing the letter in Isabel’s hands.

“I was just wondering if you could send this to Dumbledore. It’s a bit, ahem, urgent. Critical, even.”

“Of course! I will do it right away!” she gave her a friendly wink.

“Isabel!” Ginny laughed, “Come join us, we’re going out to play some Quidditch!” she pointed at the twins, broomsticks in hand, ready to exit the house into the yard.

“Cool, we want to join!” Ron jumped from the couch and ran to the pantry to get an old broomstick, “Have all we need?”, he turned to others, who had already opened the kitchen door.

“You got it, mate.” Fred said nonchalantly, “Let’s go.”

Isabel and the new girl stayed behind, only following the boys after they’d already exited the house.

“Hello,” she held her hand out, “My name’s Hermione Granger. Isabel, right?”

“Yeah… it’s nice to meet you, Hermione,” Isabel couldn’t help but stare at the gorgeous girl in front of her.

“So, you don’t play Quidditch, either? It’ll be nice to finally have some company while the boys are off to do their thing… Well, the boys _and_ Ginny,” she chuckled.

Isabel laughed back at her, “Well, really, I don’t even fly, much less play Quidditch.”

“You don’t know how to fly? Didn’t you learn at school, wherever you went to… Sorry, Ron wasn’t able to tell me which one it was…”

“Actually, I’ve never really attended magic school. Like, ever.”

“Shut up, _really_?” Hermione said, perplexed, “I didn’t know that was possible! I read in _Hogwarts: a History_ that a nearly perfect system to locate the birth of wizards has been invented centuries ago, and that it was impossible for a wizard to not be located and receive a letter to attend magic- Wait, you are a witch, aren’t you?!”

“Well, yeah,” Isabel laughed at Hermione’s speech, “I am, but it’s… Let’s just say it’s a very long, complicated story. But don’t worry about it, I’ve spoken to Dumbledore and he’s preparing everything for me to be able to attend Hogwarts this year.”

“Oh my God, that’s amazing! What year will you be attending?” Hermione sat down on the grass, smoothing her skirt beneath her so as it wouldn’t wrinkle.

“Oh…” Isabel hadn’t thought about it yet, “I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll be able to attend 6th year, I think that was the one I was supposed to be in, but I guess it’ll just come down to Dumbledore.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t worry too much. Professor Dumbledore is a genius, whatever he chooses will surely be the right thing.”

This comforted Isabel. With this out of her mind, at least temporarily, she could sit back and enjoy watching the Weasley’s and Harry play Quidditch. It was, without a doubt, the most amazing thing she’d ever seen; the way they flew around, perfectly in sync with each other and their brooms, not once losing control or balance as they went about the sky; it was truly mesmerizing. However, Isabel couldn’t help but stare a bit more attentively at a particular long-haired boy, sporting a tight t-shirt, probably old, since it looked like he’d seriously outgrown it. When he noticed her attentive eyes, he couldn’t help but cheekily stare back at her. He seemed to be loving the attention, and also thoroughly enjoying reciprocating it. So much so that he was almost hit by an out-of-control bludger that George had accidentally hit the wrong way.

“What’s up with you, mate, focus! I could’ve knocked your teeth out!” George screamed. He looked at a still very much unfocused Fred, noticing how he was staring down at the two girls, “Come on, you wanker, keep it in your pants!”

“Alright, alright, you dick. No need for name calling!”

After while, Isabel was starting to get a bit tired of the whole scene. Her bum was sore from the hard dirt ground and she desperately needed to use the bathroom.

“You know where the toilet is?” she asked her companion.

“It’s on the third floor, it’s the… well, it’s the only door, really. You’ll find it.”

“Thanks!”

Fred noticed the blushing girl walking away, her dress slowly lifted at her bum. Her hips swayed slightly as she walked towards the front door, and he couldn’t help but stare. 

“I need a fiver, I’m a bit thirsty, boys.”

“We can tell, Fred… We can tell…” Ron joked. 

George and the others couldn’t help but laugh as Fred flew rapidly in his broomstick over to him, only to slap him across the head playfully. Fred reached the ground, making his way over to Hermione who now, sans company, was already deep into a schoolbook.

“Where’d your little friend go?”

“Why’d you care?” she didn’t bother to take her eyes out of the page she was reading.

“Alright, you brute, I was just curious…” he started walking away.

“She went to the toilet; I take it you plan on joining her?” she teased.

Fred pretended to laugh, “Very funny, very funny… maybe stick to your books, Granger.”

He made his way back inside, walking by the rest of his family in the living room, but avoiding them, making his way upstairs two steps at a time. He got to the third floor just as the door to the bathroom opened, a sun-kissed girl walking out. 

“Hey! Didn’t see you there… I’m Fred, by the way,” he held his hand out for her to shake. Sparks erupted in his palm where he made contact with hers, shaking it vigorously. 

“Isabel,” she giggled.


	5. The Birthday Party

Fred Weasley wasn’t one to have crushes. But when he let his fingertips linger on Isabel’s hands, he couldn’t help but feel his stomach twist with excitement. ‘Come on, it’s not like she’s _that_ pretty…’, he tried to rationalize in his mind, but the way she looked up at him with those doe-like brown eyes made his knees weak. It was stupid, really; they’d barely even spoken to each other. But the sweet sound of her voice when she told him her name rang in his years like a catchy pop song. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” his voice cracked slightly, and he beat himself up inside for it; way to shoot himself in the foot. But instead, Isabel giggled softly, batting her long eyelashes at him.

“Thanks for having me at your house. I guess I would’ve been sleeping in the street if it wasn’t for you!”

Fred chuckled at her words, but the truth is that he wasn’t even really listening. He had his focus on her lips, watching how they curled upwards while she spoke, as if she had a permanent smile plastered across her face.

The truth is, Isabel was quite affected as well. The ginger boy towered over her by about a foot, his voice deep while he greeted her. She’d never been the best at dealing with boys, but she was particularly nervous while she spoke to Fred. When he stretched out his hand to greet her, she panicked, feeling her hands getting clammy. She tried to discretely wipe them against her dress, but failed miserably, and she was absolutely sure he had seen her doing so. His fingers wrapped tightly around hers in a handshake, and she held her breath anxiously. He spoke to her, but she barely listened, giggling absentmindedly. ‘You sound like such an airhead, you dumbass’, she thought. She didn’t really know what to respond to him, either, as if her already lacking social skills had been flushed down the toilet, so she said the first thing that came to mind, despite how stupid she felt it sounded. ‘He thinks I’m stupid. No doubt. I made a total fool out of myself’. 

“Kids, lunch is ready!” Molly’s voice rang from downstairs, and the two started to make their way down from the step they were chatting in.

“You’ll see mum’s a great cook!”

“Yeah… I’ve already tried her lemon pie, absolutely delicious…” 

An awkward silence fell between the two of them. Fred opened his mouth as if he was about to speak, but hesitated, retreating and turning his blushed face to the side in shame. Isabel, however, didn’t seem to notice, too focused on not tripping and making a fool of herself, which was a very common thing for her.

“Well,” he’d finally gathered up the courage, “I do believe mom’s savoury dishes are actually better than her deserts!”

“Is that so,” Isabel was afraid she would wrongfully come off as uninterested, so she quickly added, “Uhm, yeah… the thing is, I’m quite a picky eater…”

“Oh, mum doesn’t like picky eaters.”

“Oh…” Isabel was afraid she’d blown it, but she had no option but to suck it up, as the pair had finally reached the kitchen. 

Fred left his spot walking next to Isabel and made his way to his assigned seat at the table, sandwiched between George and Ron. He noticed, weirdly, that next to Harry Potter’s honorary chair at the edge of the table (usually reserved for his dad or for birthday boys or girls) had an empty seat next to him. Besides his big birthday cake, with red and yellow frosting and fourteen lit candles, was also a smaller one, with messy pink frosting and a candle in the shape of a six, already half-burned, balancing on top of the unstable structure. He looked at Isabel, who had an open-mouthed smile plastered across her face, and couldn’t help but to smile as well.

“I know it isn’t much, but I just _had_ to get a cake for you as well! So, surprise!”

“Oh, Mrs. Weasley, you really didn’t have to!” the girl giggled sweetly, “It’s so nice to be turning…” she took a better look at the cake, “six… again!”

Fred laughed louder at Isabel’s joke than his siblings, which incited a few side stares. 

“Oh- I’m sorry about that. I could not find any other candle anywhere!”

“Well, I suppose it’s close enough to sixteen…” Hermione added with a soft chuckle.

“I didn’t know it was your birthday?” Fred blurted out, making the whole table stare at him in confusion, “I… You… You didn’t really mention it…” he tried to justify himself.

“Well, I supposed I didn’t quite remember to bring it up…” Isabel sounded a bit put off by the sudden silence that fell over the table.

‘Nice one, Fred. You’re an absolute twat’, he thought. Everyone sang happy birthday, first to Harry, and then again to Isabel. Mrs. Weasley, although excited to have them both taste their cakes, insisted, “Not until we’ve had our lunch!” she snapped her fingers and pots and pans came magically flying from the stove, landing perfectly and softly on the table, while the cakes put themselves away on top of the counter, “Isabel, dear, I didn’t really know what you’d like to eat so I made a bit of everything!”

Isabel looked over the table, overflowing with food, and wondered how it was able to support all the weight that was being put on top of it, “Wow, Mrs. Weasley, this is amazing… I guess the, uhm- is that chicken broth soup?”

“Very well, dear, would you like some?”

“Oh, yes, please,” she was ready to get up and serve herself a plate when Mrs. Weasley _tsked._

“The birthday girl should not have to serve herself! Here…“ she handed Isabel a deep plate full of the steamy soup, “Now eat up everybody.”

After lunch, Mrs. Weasley requested her children’s help to clean up the kitchen and assured Isabel, Harry and Hermione that it was alright for them to leave. Hermione quickly made her way over to the armchair that stood in one of the corners of the room and buried herself in some old book, which left Isabel and Harry by themselves. He pointed to the door as if asking if she wanted to join him outside, and Isabel nodded. They walked quietly through the garden and sat in some old lawn chairs the Weasleys kept by the small lake near their home.

“Kind of a coincidence, that we share a birthday, ay?”

“Yeah… two years apart, though, of course,” she lied.

“Yes, yes…” Harry seemed to be pondering his next moves, and when he opened his mouth, he spoke quickly, “I’ve had a quick chat with Mrs. Weasley today.”

“Alright?” she didn’t know where he was trying to get with this.

“She told me how you just showed up here. Out of thin air. How is that possible?” the boy was trying to subtly interrogate her, but failing miserably, which Isabel caught up on.

“If you’re trying to do what I _think_ you’re trying to do, it’s no use. I’ve already spoken to Professor Dumbledore.”

“You have?” his previously furrowed eyebrows finally seemed to relax, “Well, that’s great then. Might I ask…”

“No,” she cut him off, “It’s… it’s secret, I suppose, that’s the best way to explain it…”

Isabel knew Harry Potter was not one to easily let go of his paranoias, but she believed that he had been satiated for the moment and stopped bothering her.

“Harry…” she began, still unsure if she was really to say what she was about to say, “I know you don’t trust me… Hell, you’ve barely just met me, but… there’s no need for you to think I’m not trustworthy, or that I’m plotting something against you, or anything. We _are_ on the same side. Even more so than you could imagine.”

“And how’s that?”

“Like I said,” she teased, “top secret!”

This seemed to lighten the mood, and both the kids laughed off the temporary animosity. 

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Fred was close to violently scrubbing a pan, while George stood next to him wiping the cutlery dry.

“So, the new girl, hey?”

“Buzz off,” Fred re-watched the moment countless times in his head; how Harry and Isabel had left the kitchen together, walking outside side-by-side. He thought of what they might be doing out there, all by themselves, while everyone else was in the kitchen, completely oblivious to their absence from the living room. He couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous of Harry, wishing he could be the only chaperoning Isabel on a stroll around the garden; wishing, really, he could just be alone with her for a moment, without making a complete fool of himself the way he had earlier.

“No need to speak like that to your own twin brother! I know you, you twat. You have your eye on her.”

“ _Shutup_ …” Fred dragged out his response.

“Fred, mate I don’t blame you. She’s a fine piece of ass but, well… right now _you’re_ acting like an ass,” George couldn’t help but chuckle at his own awful pun, “I’m only worried, Freddie, mate, why are you all acting all sulked over a girl you just met?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. Shut up and wipe, you wanker.”

“I think Freddie’s got a little crush,” he said, in a sing-song voice. Fred grabbed a nearby dish rag and hit his brother in the face. George fought back, hitting his brother’s shoulder with the soaking rag he’d been using.

“Now what. Is. This?!” Molly’s voice was enough for the two boys to snap back into position, pretending to be working quietly and undisturbed, “And now I thought I had two sixteen-year-olds and not two toddlers!”

Fred went back to his dishes, even more defeated than he was before, until he heard the sound of the kitchen door opening, Isabel and Harry laughing as they walked back inside. He tried to look at her discretely, but soon his eyes met hers, and she was turning her head away in embarrassment. Somehow, her shyness seemed to boost Fred’s confidence, as if he was proud his attention was making Isabel feel shy and nervous. He kept his eyes on her, waiting to see if she would dare to look again. Soon enough, Isabel couldn’t resist her impulses, and their eyes met again, causing her to turn a bright shade of pink.

“Maybe you’re right, George,” Fred turned to his brother, his newfound confidence shining through, as he signalled towards the girl with his head “Fine. Piece. Of. Ass.” he mouthed.


	6. The Letter

It had been a long day at the Burrow. After lunch, and after Isabel and Harry’s little chat, the kids all got together and went to the lake. Ginny had given Isabel a pink bikini with a frilly bottom for her to use, and after changing in the bathroom, Isabel made her way downstairs in an old, oversized t-shirt (which Ginny informed her had belonged to her brother Charlie) and flip flops. When she arrived at the lake, everyone had already jumped in except for Hermione, who was basking in the afternoon sun rays by herself, lying on a towel by the water. Isabel discarded her clothing, making use of a tiny, makeshift fishing dock to cannonball into the water, splashing the near-by Weasleys and Harry Potter. The kids laughed it off, which caused the scene to turn into a splashing war, in which Isabel participated eagerly, laughing as Fred seemed to have a particular taste for attacking her specifically.

Soon, they were joined by their older brothers, excepting Percy, who, Bill quoted, ‘had more important matters to attend to’. The boys, however, were seeking a more relaxed time in the lake, one that didn’t involve getting water in their eyes and up their nostrils, so everyone settled for some water-volley, which Isabel respectfully passed up on. She exited the lake, without noticing Fred’s eyes glued to her tiny pink bikini bottoms, and stretched her towel out next to Hermione’s. 

The rest of the afternoon went by pretty quickly, with everyone enjoying themselves, and dinner was just as amazing as lunch. Mrs. Weasley had insisted on singing “Happy Birthday” to them again, and the joyous family happily did so, with the twins singing particularly loudly, annoying their mother. 

After all this, everyone was exhausted, so the living room quickly started emptying one or two people at a time. However, when Mr. Weasley went to bed, his wife stayed behind, to help the guests settle in.

“Alright, Harry, you’re staying in Ron’s bedroom as usual, dear, I’ve already set up your bed,” she turned to the girls, “Isabel, I’m sorry, since we were only expecting our Hermione here to come, I’ve only set up one extra bed in Ginny’s bedroom.”

“I’m sure we can work something out, mum,” the ginger commented.

They all climbed upstairs to Ginny’s bedroom on the first floor, where Mrs. Weasley waved her wand, muttering some spells, and causing Hermione’s bed to shift positions, allowing for one more mattress to appear out of thin air and fit right between Hermione’s and Ginny’s. 

“My work here is done, kids. Sleep tight!” and with this, they were left alone. 

Ginny used her wand to dim the candles around the room, and Hermione scolded her for using magic without permission, to which she simply responded, “There are five of-age wizards in this house, Hermione, they’ll never know it was me!”

She chuckled, but Hermione’s face made it obvious that she clearly wasn’t convinced. The girls all put on their pyjama’s, but instead of going to each of their assigned beds, they decided to join Hermione’s and Isabel’s mattresses, where they sat together, chatting and getting to know the new girl. The curious girls asked Isabel about everything, to which she had quite the trouble responding to, since she was trying to keep her secret safe. Yet, Isabel’s vague answers didn’t seem to put the girls off, who continued to bombard her with more and more questions.

“So, you were raised as a muggle? Really? How was that?” Ginny inquired.

“I mean, it was normal. But I guess my normal is different from yours…”

“Well, I’m a Muggle-born, so I lived pretty much a normal life, according to your standards… At least until I got my Hogwarts letter, of course,” Hermione added.

“That reminds me, mum said something about you attending Hogwarts with us?” Ginny stated, making it sound more like a question than a fact.

“Yeah, apparently I am,” Isabel couldn’t hold back her enthusiasm, to which the girls giggled back happily, “Professor Dumbledore said he’s arranging everything for me to be able to attend!”

“That’s marvellous! But, it’s been eating me up, thinking about this… what year will you be attending? Since you’d have a pretty hard time if you were to actually be in year 6…”

“I don’t know, really, I guess that’s up to Dumbledore.”

“Well,” Hermione added with a comforting tone, “like I told you earlier, Professor Dumbledore’s a genius, I’m sure he’ll make just the right choice!”

Soon enough, the girls grew tired of chatting, each moving to their own personal spots in the tiny room and bidding each other goodnight before Ginny blew out all the candles with another sweep of her wand. But while the girls seemed to fall asleep almost instantly, Isabel tossed and turned inside the light covers, starting to feel a pit of guilt growing in her stomach. She had been so excited to be in this magical world, that she had forgotten about her mother, and Jannah, and her family, and just anyone she left behind, without even looking back. After a while of mindlessly staring at Ginny’s Quidditch posters on the wall, Isabel decided that the best way to clear her mind was to take a stroll around the yard. 

She threw on a flannel that someone had discarded on top of a chair in Ginny’s room, and she quietly opened the door, checking to see if there was anyone around the hallway. The coast was clear, so she tiptoed to the living room, thankful that Ginny’s room was not on a higher up floor of the house, and swiftly opened the door, stepping outside into a cold summer night. She walked over to the same lawn chairs she and Harry had sat in earlier, but quickly realised she wasn’t alone. 

“Hello!” the muscular young man said, his hair tied up in a loose ponytail behind his head, a lighter in his hands, “I see I wasn’t the only one needing some fresh air.”

He took a cigarette to his mouth, lighting and taking a deep breath.

“Oh… yeah, I couldn’t really sleep,” her voice was shaky.

“First night in a new place is always the hardest,” he exhaled as he spoke, and Isabel couldn’t help but feel intimidated by his cool, relaxed presence. 

“Didn’t know wizards smoked cigarettes.”

“Not a lot do…” he stretched out his hand towards Isabel, holding the pack, as if offering her to take one, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Isabel hesitated, but figured it would probably help ease her overactive mind.

“Mum wouldn’t like knowing I’m indulging in such a terrible Muggle habit,” he chuckled, his voice low and rough, “And I’m guessing she wouldn’t like me dragging you along in it, either.”

Isabel nodded, a sly smirk forming on her lips. She held the cigarette against her lips and sat down next to Bill. He turned to the side, signalling her to come closer, and lit her cigarette, cupping his hand next to her face so the wind wouldn’t blow it out. 

“Aren’t you a bit young to smoke?”

“I’m a bit young for a lot of things actually,” Isabel remarked sarcastically, earning her a cackle from Bill.

“I suppose so…”

The two sat quietly for a bit, watching the smoke dance around in the breeze. After a while, Bill cleared his throat.

“So I see you’re getting along with my siblings.”

“Yeah, they’ve all been pretty welcoming,” Isabel smiled.

“I reckon Fred has been a bit more than welcoming…” he chuckled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing…,” he sighed loudly, “If you don’t see it, I’m not going to be the one ratting out my little brother.” 

Isabel was puzzled at the boy’s words, “I really don’t see where you’re trying to get…?”

“Oh, you’ll see in time,” he shook his head, “Fred’s not quite the best at subtlety.”

With this, Bill got up from his spot, waving goodbye to Isabel and walking back inside. Isabel, however, enjoyed the quiet for a little longer. Suddenly, she heard the loud hoot of an owl in the distance. She looked around, trying to figure out where it was coming from, when she saw a large, brown owl making its way down from the sky. It had started its descent, clumsily flailing around, clearly disturbed by the letter tied to its paw. The final two meters were basically completed in a free-fall, landing the owl right at Isabel’s feet.

“I’m guessing you must be Errol…” she stated, removing the envelope, and opening it carefully, afraid she would damage the letter inside it. She noticed the intricate handwriting with which its sender wrote her name and wondered who it might’ve been from.

“Dear Isabel, 

I hope I still catch you while you are awake, and I apologize I am writing this to you at such a late hour. I have received your letter and am very glad you remembered to warn me of such a thing. I cannot say much, I am afraid owl correspondence is not the safest way to communicate regarding these matters. For this reason, I will be coming back to the Burrow first thing in the morning tomorrow to have another chat with you, if that is not overstepping the boundaries, of course.

Sweet dreams,

Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore”

Isabel pondered the contents of the letter. If she’d already given Dumbledore all the information regarding the upcoming Death Eater attack, how come he still felt the need to speak to her in person? She couldn’t think of a good enough reason, and she thought maybe her trouble thinking was coming from the fact that her eyelids were finally starting to feel heavy. She decided the best thing she could do was go to bed and rest properly for her meeting tomorrow.

She walked but to the house, but strangely noticed that the kitchen lights were on. She wondered if it was Bill who’d lit them when he went back to his room, but she doubted it, since he seemed to take great care being discreet. She walked inside, and Fred was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of water, with an insightful, focused look on his face.

“Hey…” Isabel said.

“You smell like Bill,” Fred laughed.

“What…?!” Isabel desperately sniffed her clothes, not wanting to be caught smoking by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley because of the fact she was unaware that she smelled like smoke, “No I _do not_!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell. Bill thinks it’s his little secret, but, really, everyone but mum and dad know.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Fred was genuinely confused at her words.

“I don’t know, really,” they both chuckled, Isabel sounding more embarrassed and nervous than actually amused, “I don’t want my hosts to catch me smoking in their own house! What does that make of me…?”

Fred smirked at her words, but instead of answering he just told her goodnight and walked upstairs. He held in his breath for what seemed like the whole trip up to his and George’s shared bedroom, and only let out a long sigh when he was sure the door was closed, and that Isabel would not be able to hear him.

“Where the hell have you been?” George shifted in his bed, his voice drowsy and dragging out, “I was sleeping, you dick…”

“I just heard some noises downstairs and went to check.” Fred, technically, wasn’t lying; he had heard Isabel sneaking out, despite how quiet she had tried to be, and followed her down, just to try and talk to her. The latter, obviously, went terribly wrong, he thought. Her presence made him nervous and awkward, and he never seemed to know what to say when she was around, at least without making himself look like a complete arse. 

Despite Fred’s attempt not to give George too many details regarding his little escapade, George seemed to know exactly what his brother had been doing, “You bloody creep… Don’t you think it’s a little weird that you’ve been following her around?”

“What do you care, anyways?” Fred whisper yelled.

“No, you’re right, I really don’t care. Now don’t wake me again, twat,” with this, he turned to face towards the wall and put his pillow over his head.

Isabel went upstairs with her brains in even more of a mush than before. Although her little moment with Bill had calmed her nerves, her and Fred’s chat had left her very much confused, especially considering what Bill had told her. True, she’d always been quite oblivious when it came to flirting and romance, if that was even what Bill was insinuating, but for sure this wasn’t Fred’s idea of hitting on her? Despite all that was still going on in her head, she decided she was far too tired to continue down this spiral. She had blown out all the candles in the kitchen one by one (a hard task if you don’t have a wand to do everything for you), and made her way back to Ginny’s room, trying her hardest not to wake up the sleeping girls.


	7. Consequences

Isabel woke up to someone shaking her by the shoulders.

“Come on, Isabel, wake up” Ginny yelled. Isabel’s eyes fluttered open with a lot of difficulty, and she groaned loudly, taking her pillow from bellow her head and throwing it at Ginny.

“Isabel,” Hermione said laughing at Ginny’s surprised expression, “Mrs. Weasley says breakfast is ready! You _have_ to get up!”

“Just five more minutes I _swear_.”

“When did you come back to bed last night, anyways? I woke up at around 1am and you weren’t here…” Ginny joked, “It’s no surprise you’re this tired!”

“Girls, what is taking you so long?!” Molly’s shrill voice came from the bottom of the stairs.

“Coming, mum! Isabel just needed a little incentive,” Ginny and Hemione smirked at each other, both pulling the bottom of Isabel’s covers at the same time, “Now, get dressed!”

Isabel threw on some loose jean shorts and a tank top, but she failed to find anything to put on her feet in the mess that overtook the bedroom since Hermione had arrived. She walked out the room barefoot, thankful that the floor was made of nice, soft wood planks and not chilly tiles.

“Isabel, I was wondering where you were! Sit down, dear, sit down!”

A plate of toast and a cup of milk were already set out for her, and everyone was already either halfway through eating or done entirely. 

“You’ll have to excuse me, I must leave for work, my dears. I will see you at dinner!”

“Bye, dad,” the kids echoed.

“I must get going, too, mother. Mr. Crouch doesn’t like it when I’m late…”

“Yeah, yeah, we _know_ , Percy. You’re _sooo_ important now with your new Ministry job.” Fred mocked him. George joined him in making a very poor, very offensive impression of their older brother talking excitedly about his new job. Their brother, however, ignored them and left with Mr. Weasley.

“Be nice to your brother!” Mrs. Weasley hit both of them with a newspaper, which caught Isabel’s eye.

“Oh my God, the pictures move!”

“Why, of course, sweety. It’s not like those boring old Muggle newspapers!” Molly joked, “Here, you can read it if you want.”

Isabel grabbed it, and the first page caught her attention instantly.

“The Quidditch World Cup?! It’s this month?”

“Oh yeah! It’s in two weeks! Dad got us Top Box seats!” Ron said, thrilled to boast about it to Isabel.

Fred noticed Isabel’s confusion at Ron’s statement, and so he added “That means we have basically the best seats in the whole stadium. We’re going to be sitting next to the Minister of Magic himself!”

“Oh, wow, that’s… That’s awesome,” Isabel had to pretend like she didn’t already know all of what he was telling her. Fred smiled at her, observing how beautiful her messy hair looked, clearly uncombed.

Suddenly, Isabel heard the already familiar noise of flowerpots clanking against each other and remembered Dumbledore’s letter. She heard Dumbledore quietly swear at the mess he made when he landed.

“Those damn vases, I always forget they’re there…”

“Kids, I told you to move them to the shed!” Mrs. Weasley yelled, to which the twins laughed, “I can never trust you two to do anything right!”

“It’s fine, Molly, I’m just a very forgetful old man! They were there yesterday; I _should_ have remembered!” Dumbledore made an effort to get the twins off the hook, winking at them mischievously.

“But what brings you here, Albus? I didn’t know you planned on visiting today.”

“Oh, yes, I’m afraid I came unannounced. Please, do forgive me; however, Isabel and I need to have a word… Shall we go to the shed?”

“Of course,” she stood up, “Just- one tiny issue, I couldn’t find any shoes… So I’m barefoot!” she giggled nervously at the absurdity of it all, but Dumbledore seemed to find the situation actually hilarious.

In an impulsive move, Fred jumped up from his chair, “Here, you can have my slippers!” he handed them to her, “Might be a bit big, sorry.”

“Erm… that’s fine, I guess. Thanks,” their fingers brushed slightly, causing Isabel to shiver and Fred to let out a low whimper. Although he was sure nobody else but Isabel had heard it due to the loud chatting that was going on at the breakfast table, he noticed the way her eyes widened, growing red with embarrassment. He sat back down, terrified to look her in the eyes again.

“That was kind of weird, mate,” George whispered in his ear after Isabel and Dumbledore had left the kitchen, and Fred couldn’t help but replay the awkward moment in his head, sinking deeper into his chair, whishing there could just be a rewind button for real life.

Isabel and Dumbledore’s set up was pretty much the same as it had been the last time, except for the flowerpots Molly Weasley had put away right next to where the man sat.

“We must speak about the attack.”

“I- I was wondering what this whole visit would be about… I’m not sure what else to tell you, other than what I already did.”

“I need to know,” Dumbledore seemed to struggle to find the right words, “the _consequences_.”

“How so?”

“Think about it; you know about this terrible thing that’s about to happen in the future,” Dumbledore tried to get her to rationalize, “Now, how do you choose what to do with this information?”

“I… I think about it’s repercussions?”

“Exactly! You have to wonder, could worse things come from you changing the way this event takes place?”

“You have to assess the damage it might cause.”

“Spot on, Isabel, very well done! So, what does this lead us to?”

“Well, the way I see it, like- my first impulse would be to try and avoid it…”

“Would be a lot of people’s course of action, yes…”

“But…” Isabel started to think about everything she remembered was a direct consequence of the Death Eater attack, “It would change too many things about the timeline! Our advantage would be almost completely destroyed if we changed this one event!” she finally realized.

“Brilliant! That was exactly where I was trying to get! This is so much easier than trying to get poor Harry to come to his own conclusions…” Dumbledore joked.

“So, what do we do? We can’t just let this happen!”

“That’s why I need you to tell me, right here and right now what happens after the Quidditch World Cup! Don’t worry about any eavesdroppers, I’ll set a silencing spell,” Dumbledore said, waving his wand.

“Well, _everything_ , everything?”

“Every single thing you can remember, of course.”

And so Isabel started recalling the events of the book she’d read as a young girl; how Barty Crouch Jr. was still alive, in hiding, and managed to escape from the _Imperius_ spell his father kept him under during the mess that went down at the World Cup. She explained how he joined Voldemort once again at the old Riddle family house, and how they orchestrated a plan to get Harry Potter right where they needed him, to perform a ritual that would give Voldemort his human form back. She explained that, to attain this, they kidnapped soon-to-be Professor Moody, replacing him with Barty Crouch Jr. using Polyjuice Potion to impersonate the ex-Auror.

“So, the plan was to put Harry’s name in the Goblet of Fire?”

“Yes, and to make sure he won, so he would touch the Cup, which they’d turned into a Portkey. And then perform the ritual, ultimately bringing Voldemort back, _fully_.”

“And you say the Diggory boy dies in this scenario? Because both him and Harry grab the Cup?”

“Yes, sadly.”

“Well, rest assured, _that_ we will try to avoid, at all cost,” Dumbledore affirmed, “Now I’m sure you already know the Weasleys will be going to the Quidditch World Cup, where said attack happens, in precisely eighteen days, correct?”

“Well, yeah…” Isabel had to admit she was a bit disappointed she couldn’t go.

“Well, for the sake of our little mission,” he said, pulling out an envelope, I have managed to get the Weasley’s an extra ticket for the Cup, which they can use on you… Free of charge, of course! Now, you must be wondering what exactly the plan is…”

Isabel nodded.

“Great, so let me begin to explain; we will not prevent the Death Eaters from attacking. What we will do is, basically, how should I put it… damage control, you could say.”

“So…” Isabel gave it a good thought, “What you’re telling me is that you’re gonna let all the crazy things that were supposed to happen take their course but making sure they don’t overstep any boundaries… right?” despite her assertiveness during her explanation, Isabel hesitated at the end, afraid she was speaking complete nonsense.

“That is exactly it, well done, Isabel! And I’m sure you can guess why…?”

“So Barty escapes and joins Voldemort?” she ran every scenario she could think of in her mind, “And so everything goes the way it’s supposed to. At least, according to Voldemort and Barty Crouch Jr.’s plan!”

“Precisely… We’re going to trick them into believing we are completely oblivious to what they have planned; make them believe they have the upper-hand when, in fact, we do!”

Isabel smiled at the prospect of actually helping in the destruction of Voldemort; ‘Hermione was right,’ she thought, ‘Dumbledore really is a genius’.

“Oh, is that the time?!” Dumbledore exclaimed, looking at an old, rusty pocket watch, “We must hurry up, I have a meeting with your future Professor Moody… Poor thing, with what he has in store for his future… Well, I’m really excited to continue these meetings, hopefully regularly, when we’re both at Hogwarts!”

“Me too, Professor.”

“Which leads me to our last matter of the day; I already spoke to the other Professors at Hogwarts, and I just want to let you know to pay attention to the daily owls! You might be getting a letter soon!”

“Wow! Thank you, so much!” Isabel was absolutely thrilled.

“And we’ve decided that the best for you, and for our ‘mission’, would be for you to attend the fourth year. We believe it will be easier for you to adjust, and will help you keep an eye on Harry and the others…”

“That’s _perfectly_ fine! Really, I am just thrilled. Absolutely thrilled! But-“ she suddenly remembered her lack funds, “You know, I don’t want to be a burden for the Weasleys, especially economically and-“

“Ah, ah, ah, say no more. I must tell you, of course… How could I forget?! You have more than just a ticket to the World Cup in that little envelope. You see, you must know who Sirius Black is?”

“I do…?” Isabel was unsure of where the conversation was headed.

“Sirius has very graciously agreed to share his unused fortune with you.”

“Oh, I-“

“He insists! So don’t bother trying to deny it, it’s yours! You’ll find a key to your vault at Gringotts, all you have to do is pick it up with Molly or Arthur’s help.”

Isabel smiled. Having ended their little meeting, they both exited the Weasley’s shed once again. But Dumbledore, instead of walking all the way back to the house, stopped about halfway through.

“Forgive me, but I really _cannot_ stay here any longer! Alastor doesn’t take delays lightly, he always seems to think I’ve been kidnapped when I don’t show up on time. Please tell Molly I said goodbye, will you?” and with this Professor Albus Dumbledore disapparated.

Isabel walked into the kitchen, telling Molly that Dumbledore was late to an appointment and had to leave. She then walked into the living room, where Fred was seating all by himself, which Isabel found quite unusual.

“Where is everyone?”

“Oh, they’re getting ready to go to the lake…” he avoided looking directly at her.

“That seems fun, aren’t you going to join them?”

“Not sure…” Fred blushed, but Isabel couldn’t really see it, since he made an effort to hide his face behind his long, red hair. This was far from the cheeky, confident attitude she expected from _the_ Fred Weasley, which left her wondering about Bill’s words yet again. In a leap of faith, Isabel moved from her position, sitting in one of the red armchairs, to the same couch Fred was sitting in. As if to test the waters, she moved closer and closer to him, shifting her position until their thighs were brushing against each other. Finally, at the feeling of Isabel’s touch, he looked up with a slight smirk, which he simply could not contain. Now it was Isabel’s turn to blush, finally fully aware of her own daring move.

“You look cute when you blush,” his cheeky nature finally revived at Isabel’s actions.

“Uhm, wow, uh…” the girl blushed even more, causing Fred to laugh, a wave of new-found confidence hitting him, causing the girl’s voice to shake as she spoke again, “You know what, maybe I _will_ be joining them at the lake…”

Fred couldn’t help but to admire the girl next to him, laughing at her charming awkwardness; the earlier embarrassment had really taken a toll on him, but seeing her acting so shy and nervous around him put him back on his feet, “That’s a sight I wouldn’t mind seeing…”


	8. Dreams and Stares

Isabel’s cheeks never came down from the shade of red they had been since her conversation with Fred. His flirting hadn’t stopped, following her, joining the rest of the kids in the lake, constantly staring at her, shamelessly looking at her tiny pink bikini. After dinner, Isabel decided to go straight to bed. Fred’s provocation had not stopped for a second, even next to his parents and older brothers, while he gently kicked her feet playfully under the table. She lied down, looking straight at the ceiling, trying to get the red-haired boy’s cheeky smile off her mind, but failing miserably. The truth was, the only reason she’d left her new friends early was that she was far too embarrassed at her shyness to stand Fred’s flirting anymore. Actually, she wished she was just a little less shy, just a little more confident, so she could have stayed a little longer. She was beating herself up about it for a couple of hours, unable to sleep yet again. When the girls finally went up to the bedroom, she pretended to be asleep just so they wouldn’t ask any questions about her weird attitude. After a while of pretending, she actually managed to peacefully drift to sleep, dreaming of the attractive boy who had sat across from her at dinner.

Despite her trouble falling asleep, Isabel woke up early in the morning, joining everyone in the kitchen for breakfast. Finally, she decided it was time to tell them the news.

“Everybody,” she said, standing up from her chair, yet still getting shy when the whole table stared at her, “I have some news…”

Her new-found friends stared at her expectantly, and Mrs. Weasley spoke up, “What is it, dear?”

“First of all, Dumbledore has offered me a ticket to watch the Quidditch word cup with you!”

“Oh. My. _Merlin_!” Ginny squealed, excited at the prospect of her new friend attending such an important event with her.

“But wait!” Isabel interrupted the cheers, “Dumbledore has also confirmed that I will _actually_ be attending Hogwarts!”

“That’s great news, Isabel!” a smile cut across Harry Potter’s face.

“Has Professor Dumbledore told you what year you’ll be attending, yet?” Hermione added.

“Year four!” she finally let out, smiling at her friend’s excitement.

“Hey…” Ron said, his mouth stuffed with pancakes, “That’s the year we’re in!”

“A bit slow, little brother…” Fred remarked, mocking Ron. 

“Will you be getting any help, considering you don’t really know anything about magic?” Hermione inquired, suddenly remembering Isabel’s situation.

“Oh… I don’t really know, I- Dumbledore didn’t say anything about that in his letter…”

“We could help you, if you’d like!” Harry blurted out, “Teach you some of the basics, at least, so you wouldn’t be completely lost!” 

“Yeah, and Hermione would be a bloody great teacher, I’ll tell you that!” Ron added, making the girl sitting next to him blush violently.

“That would be marvellous, you lot having something productive to do during your holidays!” Mrs. Weasley commented.

“Well…” Isabel grinned from ear to ear, “I’d love that. I really would.”

It was now a waiting game until it was time for the Quidditch World Cup. The two weeks that followed Isabel’s welcome at the Burrow consisted mostly of mindless fun and enjoyment; the kids all tried their best to properly introduce her to this new, magical world she was about to be part of, teaching her some basic spells (which she couldn’t really perform yet, due to her lack of wand, and Hermione’s insistence to follow the law) and describing what Hogwarts was like, telling her about the teachers, subjects, secret passages and House rivalries… Isabel couldn’t, however, tell them she already knew a lot of these things. Granted, her knowledge wasn’t as in debt as the information they were giving her, but she didn’t need to know about Gryffindor and Slytherin’s century-old conflict, which she was _more than quite_ aware of. Besides the lessons, the kids spend most of their time at the lake, or running around the fields that surrounded the Burrow. Ron was particularly keen on telling her everything there was to know about Quidditch, ‘She _needs_ to know, if she’s going to be at the Final!’, he would tell whoever laughed at his eagerness to talk about his favourite sport. Isabel didn’t really mind, though, as she was more than glad to learn everything she could about her new home.

Fred’s teasing was also a constant; the two couldn’t be in a room together without the boy smirking at her incessantly, and without her blushing shyly at the attention. However, things seemed to escalate as one night the two were the last ones standing in the living room when everyone had gone to bed already. Fred sighed loudly, trying to catch Isabel’s attention. The girl, who was nose deep into a book, which Hermione had let her borrow, jumped at the sound, suddenly snapping back to reality. She looked up just in time to see the red-haired boy get up from his seat, joining her on the couch where she had been reading, with her legs pressed to her chest. She tensed up at the feeling of his weight sinking down on the couch. Although she had been feeling slightly less intimidated by his flirty presence, suddenly being alone with him, all while everyone was upstairs, gave her butterflies in her chest, and she tensed up her knees against her chest even more so than they already were.

His hand landed dangerously close to her hip, and she shifted slightly, afraid they would brush against each other. He noticed her reticence, and removed his hand, resting it on his own lap. However, intoxicated by an intense gut feeling she had, Isabel laid her hand where his was, just mere moments before. Fred had noticed this, bewildered by Isabel’s sudden nerve. He put his hand down next to hers, mere millimetres between the two of them. Just as Fred had just gathered enough courage to close the gap, they noticed Mr. Weasley’s footsteps coming down the stairs, each bringing their hands back on top of their own thighs.

“What are you two doing still up?” Mr. Weasley’s warm whisper had sounded through the empty living room, and Fred couldn’t help but wonder what could’ve happened if his father hadn’t interrupted them.

Isabel’s trouble sleeping had also been a daily occurrence. Almost every night she would tip-toe downstairs after everyone had already left to go to bed, often joining Bill, who would already be sitting outside, smoking a cigarette. They would keep each other company for a while, usually talking about Isabel’s new experiences with magic, or about his family, or Hogwarts, or sometimes even engaging in more serious conversations. The same night she and Fred had shared their little moment, Isabel made her way downstairs, as usual, to meet the older boy, already sitting on the bench. He offered her a cigarette, how he always used to, and she took it gladly, maybe even more eagerly so than usual.

“What’s on your mind?” Bill asked her, noticing her clenched jaw and furrowed brows.

“I finally see what you meant, that first night…” she mentioned, taking a particular long drag.

“How so?”

“I mean about Fred.”

“Oh… Took you long enough,” he joked.

“Yeah… You’ll find I’m usually pretty fucking blind when it comes to this sort of thing,”

“I’ve noticed,” he laughed, a subtle hint of bitterness in his voice, which Isabel failed to pick up on. 

“Oh, God, I always make such a fool out of myself…” she sighed, hiding her face in her hands.

“Hey, hey, hey… Where’s all this coming from?” Bill inquired, concerned at Isabel’s sudden outburst, bringing her hands into his own to comfort her.

“It’s just… I know that he’s been flirting with me, but my brain… It just can’t seem to... Process it? You know what I mean?” Bill nodded in response, allowing her to let all her feelings out before intervening, “I just don’t know how to act when I’m next to him… And it’s so stupid as well! All he’ll do is _smile_ at me and I already don’t know what to say… He leaves me quite literally _speechless_!”

“Well, I wouldn’t put my brother that high up on a pedestal…” Bill joked.

“It’s…It’s not really about your brother, necessarily… It’s about, well, me! It’s always been about me. I get shy, and I go quiet, and I don’t speak and then people think I’m weird because I’ll just stand in the corner and not say anything… And, maybe, they’re right! Maybe I _am_ weird.”

“You don’t seem to have that same problem with me, though,” Bill commented, which cause Isabel to lightly chuckle.

“Well, Bill, I guess you just have a very calming presence,” she joked.

Bill stared straight at the girl right next to him, who was looking at the stars, cigarette in hand, her long hair tucked behind her ear, and stood up, putting out his cigarette on the dirt, “I guess you’re right…”

Isabel had also been constantly dreaming about the mischievous red-haired boy. The setting was always the same, since they had shared their little moment; they would be sitting on that couch again, hands about to touch but, this time, Mr. Weasley would not show up and interrupt them, and their hands finally managed to join in a tight embrace, making her heart pound and her stomach toss and turn in contentment. ‘I’m fucking ridiculous, dreaming of holding someone’s hand. What am I, really? A five-year-old?!’, she thought. Despite this, the dreams continued, and she couldn’t deny that they were more than _just_ pleasant. 

Finally, it was the day before they would leave to attend the Quidditch World Cup. The kids had spent the entire day bursting with excitement. Isabel was already pretty much settled in at the Burrow, and she and the others had grown pretty close. They were sitting at the dinner table, chatting lively about their departure the next day. Mrs. Weasley had decided it was a special occasion, and so it called for a very special dinner, and she decided to make use of the nice summer weather to have supper outside. Bill and Charlie had brought some tables out, and the kids set them with patchwork tablecloths and mismatching plates, cups and cutlery. 

“Bill, you’re such a handsome young man! If you just trimmed your hair a little bit…”

“I would say more than a little bit!” Mr. Weasley joked.

“Mum, we’ve talked about this. I’m an adult, I can do what I want!” Bill was clearly annoyed. 

Next to them, Charlie was avidly speaking about dragons to his sister Ginny, telling her all about the new species he had recently studied and taken care of. The twins joined in on the conversation, asking more about his time in Romania. Meanwhile, Ron, Hermione and Harry and seemed to be whispering to each other, suspiciously leaning inwards, keeping their conversation secret. In the middle of all this, Isabel sat quietly in her own chair, observing the family, picking up bits and pieces of the different conversations. 

“Yes, it is really is strange, but I wouldn’t call it abnormal!” she heard Mr. Weasley say, catching her attention, “Bertha is an airhead, she is constantly getting lost. I must admit, it’s been quite a while, but I say we just wait and see. She has always come back, I’m sure this time it won’t be different.”

“Yes,” Percy intervened, “Mr. Crouch told me that Bertha is quite frankly a _danger_ to the Ministry, always getting lost and doing things she _simply_ wasn’t supposed to do!”

“ _Ooo_ , Mr. Crouch...!” the twins mocked their older brother, earning them a fulminating look from their mother.

“It’s alright, mother. These two have nothing going on in their sad little heads and they feel the need to mock their brother’s success!” Percy attacked them, earning nothing but a snickering laugh from the twins, “And let me tell you! I am involved in something a lot more important than _anything_ you two tossers will ever participate in.”

“And what would that be?” Fred asked, ridiculing his sibling.

“Well, and why would I tell _you_ that? It’s classified Ministry of Magic information, and _I_ happen to know it,” he bragged, “Just know something big is planned for after the World Cup…”

The twins dismissed their brother’s boasting and went back to their conversation with Charlie. Isabel, however, knew exactly what Percy was talking about. She tried to hide a knowing smirk. 

After dinner, everyone helped clean up, and when the job was done, pretty much all of them were exhausted. Isabel, however, still knew that despite the eventful and tiring day, she would have trouble falling asleep. And so, despite having followed all the others upstairs, she left the room once she made sure the girls were already fast asleep.

She met Bill, yet again, at their usual spot. He was already in what seemed to be his third cigarette, Isabel guessed by the filters she saw resting on the bench next to him. 

“It’s going to be a _long_ week,” Bill noted, once he realised Isabel was staring at his discarded cigarette butts.

“I’m sure it will,” she sat down next to him.

Tonight, contrary to their usual hangouts, they remained quiet, taking in the silence of the empty night fields, which they would not experience again for a few days. Finally, Bill stood up, stretching out his hand to Isabel to help her do the same.

“Come on, off to bed. Tomorrow’s gonna be a busy day.”


	9. The Portkey

Isabel was the first of the kids to wake up. She was far too excited to sleep, tossing and turning in her bed. She knew she would need all the rest she could get to endure the next following days, but the adrenaline running through her veins made her heartbeat sound fast and loud in her eardrums. She made her way down to the kitchen, where Mrs. and Mr. Weasley were already sitting, sipping from their coffee cups.

“Oh, dear, quite an early riser!” Arthur Weasley gushed, looking wide-eyed at his pocket-watch, that accused four thirty in the morning.

“I guess I was just far too excited to sleep.”

“It’s alright, dear, have some breakfast!” Mrs. Weasley pulled back a chair for Isabel to sit, and went to the stove to grab a bit of omelette and a cup of pumpkin juice for her.

Isabel was about done with eating when they heard footsteps coming down the stairs, Charlie and Percy appearing at the entrance of the kitchen.

“What’s of Bill?” Mr. Weasley questioned.

“He said he’d be right down, probably still picking out his outfit,” Charlie joked, causing his brother to shake his head in disapproval.

Soon enough, they were being joined by two very exhausted-looking girls, who ate their breakfast silently. They ate quickly, and Isabel joined them, going upstairs to get dressed. Everyone but the younger boys were already up and ready to go, with only an hour left to their departure, and so the girls decided to intervene, going up to Ron’s room on the fifth floor.

They knocked on the old wooden door, but were met only by Ron’s loud snores. Ginny burst it open, startling Harry, who took his hand to the scar on his forehead, panting painfully (which only Isabel and Hermione seemed to notice). However, despite the noise, and the faint sunlight that was coming through the curtain that Ginny had just moved to the side of the window, Ron was still sleeping peacefully, completely undisturbed.

“Ron. Ron,” Hermione whispered next to his ear, “Ron Weasley”, she finally said a bit louder, causing the boy to jump slightly, grabbing the covers and covering himself up in embarrassment.

“Bloody hell.”

“For God’s sake, Ron. Get dressed, we’re going to be late!” Hermione pointed at Harry, who was already hurriedly putting his clothes on.

“We’ll leave you be…” Isabel started, noting Ron’s ren cheek at the girls’ presence.

The boys didn’t take too long to show up downstairs after the girls’ intervention, coming down to the living room, Ron sporting deep purple eye bags and a frowny face.

“Great, great, right on time!” Mr. Weasley exclaimed, “We still have quite the hike!”

The kids looked at each other, surprised by this new information. Fred groaned lowly, and Isabel snapped her head up at him, observing as he threw his head back in disappointment. She smirked at the view, thinking about how attractive he looked even running on only a couple hours of sleep, his hair messy and unaligned.

“Now, kids, think about our destination!” Arthur noticed their hesitant faces, “It will be so much fun! Now off we go, out of the house.”

Isabel was the first to walk out the kitchen door, and as she waited for the others to follow, she noticed Bill wasn’t among the group, “Where are the others?” she asked Mr. Weasley quietly.

“The others will be apparating at the campsite.”

“Sir, may I ask, _how_ will we be travelling there?” Harry Potter asked.

“We’ll be using a Portkey! It’s at the top Stoatshead Hill. So, still quite the hike, as I’d told you.”

“Might I also ask,” he sounded a bit frightened, “Just what is a Portkey?!”

“I’ll explain while we walk. Let’s go, kids!”

Isabel heard Arthur Weasley explain what Portkeys were, as they made their way through the orchard, heading towards a tree-covered hill that lay ahead in their path. The sun was already visible in the sky, but was now being covered by the tall tree-tops above their heads.

“So…” Mr. Weasley explained, “there are around two hundred Portkeys for the World Cup around Britain! Marvellous, isn’t it? Oh…” he noticed someone walking in the distance, “Amos!”

“ _Ahh_ , Arthur!” they heard the man yell happily, running towards them. A tall, young boy with dirty blonde hair, ran alongside him.

“Weasley, nice to find you here,” the man said when he finally reached the group, shaking his hand vigorously.

“Oh, this must be your Cedric!” Arthur pointed at the attractive young man, who smiled politely at his comment.

“Very well,” Amos Diggory put his arm around his son, struggling to reach his shoulders due to his height, “Heard he beat your kids last year at the Quidditch cup!”

Isabel noticed the dirty looks the twins were giving Cedric, who just smiled, embarrassed at his father’s boasting.

“It wasn’t like that, dad, please,” he directed his attention to Harry, “It really was an accident, I’ve told Harry I was sorry…”

“It’s alright, mate, no problem,” the raven-haired boy excused, causing Cedric to smile.

“Well, these aren’t yours, are they… If so, they forgot to dye their red hair red today!” Mr. Diggory joked, pointing at Isabel, Hermione, and Harry, laughing loudly alongside Mr. Weasley.

“Oh, no,” Mr. Weasley said, introducing each one. Amos Diggory looked at Harry wide-eyed when he realised who he was.

Cedric, however, was looking at the new girl, smirking charmingly, “Hello… we haven’t met yet, my name’s Cedric.”, he greeted her with a hug, causing Isabel to chuckle in surprised before hugging back. Fred was starring at the two, a fulminating look in his eyes.

“No, yeah, I- I’ve just moved here, I guess…” Isabel answered, intimidated by the boy’s charming and seductive nature.

“Will you be attending Hogwarts then?” he wondered, his charisma shining through his smile.

“Yes, yes I will,” she blushed.

“Cool,” he left their conversation at that, going back to his spot next to his father.

Ginny and Hermione gave each other a knowing look, nudging Isabel’s arm and winking at her not so subtly, which caused Cedric to let out a choked chuckle, masked by him coughing loudly, and Fred to clear his throat, envious of their exchange.

“Alright, then, we have to get going!” Arthur Weasley finally said, ending their little chat.

The group continued walking up the hill, finally reaching a clearing. Arthur, Amos and Cedric stopped once they reached a raggedy old boot. The rest of the kids stepped back, confused.

“Come on, it’s almost time! You have to grab onto the key, kids!”

“I’m sorry, but is _that_ ,” Hermione said, perplexedly pointing at the boot, “the key?!”

“Yes…! Oh, no time to explain kids, GRAB IT NOW!”

Everyone ran from their places to grab the boot. They stood around in a circle, stupidly crouching next to what they thought previously was just trash, waiting for it to magically transport them to the campsite.

After a minute or so, Hermione was getting impatient, “Are we sure…”

However, she couldn’t finish her question, as the group felt themselves being thrown into the air, spinning around the boot as their surroundings seemed to shift.

“Now let go!” they heard Mr. Weasley scream.

“WHAT?!” Hermione exclaimed.

“LET GO!” Mr. Weasley said, already floating two meters above the kids.

Terrified yells were heard around them as the kids followed the man’s orders. Finally, Isabel was the last one to let go, being thrown back, feeling as if she was in a crazy rollercoaster, screaming hysterically, yet laughing simultaneously at the adrenaline she was feeling coursing through her. She landed on a soft bush, giggling at the feeling of finally being anchored to the ground. Others, however, were not so lucky; Harry and Ron landed with a thud on the hard ground, and Hermione on top of them, causing them to become a sore mess of intertwined arms and legs. The twins had managed to land somewhat upright, but lost their balance due to the dizzying journey, falling straight to the ground. Ginny was the only one already up, helping the confused kids back on their feet. Isabel looked up, seeing a very amused Cedric Diggory floating down in the air, laughing at the scene, followed by Arthur and Amos, who were chatting cheerfully. Cedric landed next to the bush she was stuck in, perfectly transitioning from flying to walking, and stretching his hand out to help her out of the mess, which she took gladly. Isabel gasped when she finally took in the scenery; a beautiful, grey, wild sea collided violently against the white cliffs, the sky stormy and colossal.

“Alright, kids!” Mr. Weasley said when everyone was already back up and ready to go, “Let’s go set up camp.”

They walked for about fifteen more minutes down the cliff, until they reached a tiny old rusty gate. Mr. Weasley exchanged a few words with the Muggle gatekeeper, who commented on the weird appearance of that week’s guests. Isabel felt a tinge of guilty rising inside of her, knowing that in a couple of days, that unassuming man would be tortured by Death Eaters.

They walked inside the big stone walls at the Muggle’s permission and, suddenly, they were able to see hundreds of thousands of tents spread across the hills.

“Alright,” Amos Diggery turned to Arthur Weasley, “We must get going, our spot is all the way across the campsite, we’ve still got a long way to go!”

“Goodbye, Amos!”

“Bye,” Cedric waved at the group, his smile lingering on Isabel as he and his father turned around and started walking down the path.

“Merlin’s beards, what was _that_?!” Ginny whispered in Isabel’s ear.

“Right, right, here it is!” Mr. Weasley pointed at a tiny two-person tent, smushed between the other tents that surrounded it.

“ _Here_?” Fred hesitated to go in, afraid they might have gotten the wrong spot.

“Are you sure?” George added after his twin brother.

“Don’t be silly, boys!” Mr. Weasley laughed, “Come on, in you go!”

The kids started going in one at a time, disappearing magically inside the tiny tent. Finally, only Harry and Isabel were left, perplexed, wondering what it would be like inside. Harry shrugged his shoulders, almost diving in, and Isabel followed.

“Wow…” the inside was amazing. It was almost like an entire house, with a full kitchen, a huge dining and living room, and three doors, where she assumed were the bedrooms. The twins had already claimed their spot in the dining table, putting their feet up and their hands behind their heads, leaning back in relaxation. Ron and Ginny were running around, playing with Quidditch action figures they’d bought in a merch stand right at the entrance of the campsite. Hermione and Harry were making their way towards the couch, dropping their heavy bags on the floor to ease their sore backs.

“Get out of the kitchen, Ron, we’re all hungry!” Mr. Weasley yelled when he noticed his son confidently walking towards the fridge.

“Yeah, Ron, get out of the kitchen!” the twins copied, in unison.

“Feet off the table!” he yelled towards them, moving quickly to the exit of their tent-house.

“Feet off the table!” they repeated yet again, removing their feet from the tabletop long while their father was still within in seeing range, only to put them back up after he’d passed them.

“Great, now, kids, I must get to the apparition centre, your brothers must be arriving soon,” with this, he left them to their own accord.

The kids decided to take up the two huge couches right in the centre of the tent. Ginny and Hermione sat in a corner, the red-haired girl resting her head on the other girl’s lap. Isabel sat across from them on the same couch, crossing her legs beneath herself. The twins decided to get up from the dining room chairs they had claimed, moving to the couch where the girls were. The looked at each other mischievously, deciding it was time to disturb the girls’ relaxation.

Fred yawned, “There really isn’t much to do around here, huh?”

George sat on the left to Isabel, putting one arm around her shoulders, and another around Hermione’s, startling them, “You girls seem bored, as well…”

“Care to have some fun?” Fred questioned, sitting on the right to Isabel, smirking mischievously at her surprise.

“Depends on what you two would define as _fun_...”

“Hermione, we’re the most fun guys you’ve ever met!”

“It hurts to even hear you _insinuate_ we’re not!” Fred gasped, pretending to be offended.

“Well, what do you suggest then?” Ginny lifted her head from Hermione’s lap, her hair messy from her playing with it.

“I say we have ourselves a little party…” Fred left Isabel’s side, walking towards what seemed to be an old Muggle radio, shoved in the back of a shelf. He picked it up, blowing some air on it and producing a cloud of dust. He looked around at the buttons and knobs, confused at the unnecessary complexity of Muggle technology, “Isabel, you know Muggle things. How do you reckon this turns on?”

He placed in on the table in front of Isabel, expectantly looking at her. She stared at the old radio, unsure of how to justify her ignorance towards what, for her, was an extremely outdated piece of technology. Thankfully, Hermione pulled the device towards her, putting the antenna up and turning it on. She surfed through several radio stations until she landed on some sappy, cliché pop-rock song.

“Now we’re talking!” George patted Hermione’s back triumphantly.

“What are you lot up to?” Ron and Harry came from the kitchen, mouths full, probably following the loud sound of the song.

“Havin’ fun!” George said, leaving his spot on the couch, soon being joined by Ginny, who enthusiastically got up with a jump, starting to dance very terribly to the awful pop tune.

“Care to join, lads?” Fred invited.

“What could I _possibly_ find amusing in making a fool out of myself?” Hermione commented in a snarky manner, watching as Ginny ungracefully waved her arms around, awfully offbeat, making her older brother laugh.

“Are you actually having fun if you aren’t making a complete fool out of yourself?!” Fred retorted, to which Hermione just shook her head disapprovingly, unable to contain a smile as she got up and joined the others.

While Ron had decided to abandon this probable opportunity to embarrass himself in front of his friends, going back to the kitchen to make himself yet another sandwich, Harry stood by the makeshift dancefloor laughing at his friends’ silly endeavours. 

“Come on,” Fred motioned for Isabel to join them, who was still sat on the couch, awkwardly crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“No, no… I don’t _dance_ …” she shook her head, hiding behind her long, brown hair to avoid eye contact with the boy.

“Does it look like any of us dance, Isabel?!” Hermione asked, laughing hysterically as she and Ginny performed a clumsy waltz around the coffee table.

“Come on, it’s fun!” Fred attempted to convince her, but still, she just shook her head in embarrassment, “I really didn’t wanna have to do this…”

“Fred…” Isabel laughed, noticing a daring look in the boy’s eyes, “What are you doing…?”

In a blink of an eye, Fred had swooped her up from the couch and over his shoulder, jumping around to the rhythm of the song while she playfully banged closed fists on his back.

“Let me down, Fred!” she tried to sound authoritative, but her laughs gave her away.

“I’ll let you go if you promise you’ll dance with us!” he yelled back, as Hermione turned up the volume of the stereo.

“Alright, fine” she giggled, “Just put me down, you _twat_!”

Fred finally obeyed, setting her down. Isabel hadn’t realized until that moment how much they were touching, how close they actually were for a moment. Fred grabbed both of her hands, making the pair dance in circles around the room, laughing and just having fun. They felt electricity running through their arms, coming from where they were touching, both nervous and excited but masking it with their amusement. When the song finished, the group of friends laughed, taking deep breaths to recover from the physical extenuating activity their poor dancing was. Fred and Isabel’s hands, however, stayed intertwined for a moment, as if in their temporary euphoria they had forgotten all about their shyness and awkwardness towards each other. When Isabel, coming down from their collective high, noticed this, she instinctively removed her hands from his, blushing profusely at the thought of what they’d just done. They suddenly heard the sound of a zipper coming from the front of the tent.

“What’s going on here, kids? Seems like you’re enjoying yourselves!” Arthur Weasley had to scream, as another song had already begun to play, and Hermione ran to turn down the radio. He walked inside through the tiny opening, and Bill and Charlie followed suit.

“We were,” Ginny said giggling, still out of breath from prancing around the room.

“Don’t tire yourselves too much, kids. Tomorrow we have a long day ahead of us!"


	10. The Quidditch World Cup

Isabel woke up at the break of dawn to the loud sound of drums right outside the tent. She rolled over, annoyed due to her disturbed slumber, and put a pillow over her head to try and muffle the sound. Sadly, it was no use, as the drums seemed to be getting louder and louder, joined by high-pitched chants, Isabel presumed, from the Irish.

“ _Ughhh_ …” she heard Ginny groan loudly, probably also woken up by the sound.

“You might as well get up already, it’s no use moping around in bed doing nothing,” Hermione was already up and dressed, standing in front of the three-storey bunkbed the girls were sharing.

“I suppose you’re right…” Isabel moaned in annoyance, jumping off her bed, a meter and a half off the ground. She quickly got dressed, all while Ginny still insisted on lying in bed and groaning each time there was a particularly loud bang of a drum.

Isabel left Ginny alone, leaving to go get breakfast in the kitchen. As soon as she stepped out she noticed most of the others were already up, dressed in bright green Quidditch jerseys and jumping around the room, enthusiastically waving Irish flags along the way. Ron seemed particularly excited, as he was speaking more loudly than usual in front of the girls, stating his prospects, and predicting what the game would be like. The sight of this collective excitement warmed Isabel’s heart, but it suddenly turned into a pit of anxiousness and fear when she remembered what would go down that same night. She was sure Dumbledore’s plan would accomplish in doing what he’d called ‘damage control’, but she still couldn’t help but feel terrified at the thought of what it all meant; if something, _anything_ went even slightly wrong, the whole plan could be seriously compromised. She tried to shake the thought out of her head, spreading some strawberry jam in a piece of bread, staring at the twins, happily swaying their arms around with their younger brother.

Ginny didn’t leave their shared room for a little while more, only coming out once Hermione had practically dragged her by her feet, since the group planned on getting lunch before the game. The group made their way outside for the first time since they’d arrived, and Isabel was amazed at how many more wizards and tents there were since the day before; it was hard to walk around without bumping into someone, and merch stands were spread all over the place, nestled between the tents, wherever they would fit.

“Don’t stray too far from us,” Bill yelled in her ear; still, it was difficult to hear due to all the cheers, “It would be a pain if we lost you and then had no way to find you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Isabel answered with a laugh.

They finally reached a big, open area full of food stalls and wooden picnic benches.

“Alright, kids, me and your brothers’ are going to order ourselves some food! Try and find a table!” Mr. Weasley struggled to make himself heard.

They walked around for a bit, finally finding what seemed to be the only free spot, and quickly jogged to it, Ginny managing to sit down just as another group of wizards were about to steal it. Mr. Weasley and the other boys took a while to finally join them again, having gotten stuck in a huge line for a particular stall. Isabel looked over at Harry, who looked to be as amazed by the whole situation as her; it truly was insane, so many wizards in one place, to attend an event of such proportions.

“Artur Weasley!” they heard a voice just as they were about to finish their meal.

“Mr. Bagman!” Arthur got up to say shake the blond man’s hand, “Kids, this is Ludo Bagman! He works at the Ministry, and he was the one who got us our tickets!”

Ron’s eyes widened at the sight, whispering way too loudly to Harry, “That’s Ludo Bagman! He used to play Quidditch!”

“Oh,” Bagman exclaimed after greeting those at the table, “Look who’s decided to join us! Oi, Crouch! Come over here, meet the one and only Harry Potter, will you?”

“Care to join me throwing out our trash?” Hermione whispered in Isabel’s ear, clearly overwhelmed by the man’s over-the-top attitude, and wanting to abandon the conversation. Isabel nodded yes, looking behind her shoulder as they walked away, knowing the exact conversation that was going on between the two men and Harry Potter. When the girls returned from their little escape, both Mr. Crouch and Percy, who’d been working for him, were already gone, and the twins were having quite the avid conversation with Bagman.

“Our whole life savings _and_ one of our fake wands that Ireland wins but Krum catches the snitch!” Fred said.

“Stupid, insane move, boys!” Bagman ridiculed their prediction, “We’re on!”

“Boys…” Mr. Weasley tried to interrupt their agreement.

“It’s a deal then!” the twins both shook hands with Bagman.

“Arthur, don’t worry, they’re grown enough to make their own decisions!” Bagman laughed, “I’ll see you around, boys.”

And so, it was finally time to start heading towards the stadium. It was still quite a long walk from the campsite, and the group was panting, exhausted when they finally reached it. Now, Isabel had read about the unbelievable proportions of the Quidditch World Championship stadium, but nothing could have prepared her for the colossal gold walls that stood in front of her when she exited her path through the deep woods. Right next to the wall, there were two more tiny merch stands, one brown and ominous for Bulgaria, and another green and shiny for Ireland. The kids split themselves up between the two lines, some going to the Irish stand to buy leprechaun hats for everyone, others buying some Viktor Krum figurines at the Bulgarian stand. They all returned, and Fred passed around the giant, green hats between them, making sure to tease Isabel by pushing the hat below her eyes as he put it in her head, causing her to laugh and curse at him playfully. With everyone ready, Ron was about to head to the huge line in front of the stadium’s main doors, when Mr. Weasley stopped him.

“Don’t forget, son, we have special tickets! Our entrance is there,” he pointed towards a door with a cloaked security guard standing in front of it, with no line to be seen. They walked over to the man, elated that they were having this sort of special treatment, all due to Bagman. The man checked their tickets, and soon enough they were climbing the steep metal stairs on the inside of the stadium. Finally, after what seemed like ten minutes, Mr. Weasley stopped in front of a door, showing his tickets to a guard yet again, who let them in with a nod.

“Wicked,” the twins said as they entered the huge compartment, staring out a huge balcony to the open field.

“We’re gonna get a close to perfect view of the match!” Ron seemed like he was about to explode with excitement.

Isabel noticed Harry making his way over to Winky, the house-elf, accompanied by Ron and Hermione, and she knew she was standing right in front of a cold-blooded killer, sitting, invisible, in the seat Winky was supposedly saving for Mr. Crouch. She shivered at the thought.

“What a privilege it must be to watch your first Quidditch match ever from the Top Box, right?” Fred asked Isabel.

“I have got to admit, it is a bit surreal!”

Fred smiled, but his amusement died down when he noticed a particular blonde-haired boy entering the room.

“Ah, Mr. Weasley! Surprised to see you here,” a tall man with long, bleach-blond hair said mockingly, “Mr. Potter, I see where garbage goes, garbage follows.”

Mr. Weasley was about to answer accordingly to this provocation, already with his mouth open and ready to fire, when he shut it suddenly at the sight of who had just entered the compartment.

“Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Weasley, it’s always a pleasure to see you both!” Cornelius Fudge greeted the two men, one smirking in triumph, and the other a deep shade of red, boiling with rage.

Lucius Malfoy and his wife smugly made their way to their seats, but their son, with equally blond hair and mighty features, stayed behind next to the Weasley kids.

“I see you’ve got your little Mudblood friend with you, Weasley. Your family has always had a thing for _scum_ ,” he spat, after making sure no adults would listen.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry intervened, putting himself between Draco and his two Muggle-born friends.

“Oh, is that one a filthy Mudblood, too?” he pointed at Isabel, making Fred impulsively put his arm in front of her protectively, “Oh, Weasley, I _see_. Maybe my father’s right, maybe garbage really does gravitate towards garbage.”

The kids were having a hard time controlling themselves not to jump Malfoy right then and there, in front of all those important, influential people, but Hermione stepped in, “It’s not worth it! He’s just _trying_ to provoke you! He wants you to react, don’t give in to his will.”

“I gotta tell you, ‘Mione, it’s pretty damn hard not to…” George commented through gritted teeth.

Draco smirked and walked away, “Pathetic.”

The kids were just about to explode when the doors opened yet again, and Ludo Bagman walked in.

“You might want to get to your seats, kids! Game’s about to begin. And trust me, you don’t want to miss the mascots,” he winked.

The kids made their way to their spots, right next to what was supposed to be Mr. Crouch’s seat, and Isabel made sure Harry stood right next to it, so it would all go according to plan. Despite having assigned seats, the kids were all way too excited to use them, and so they decided to stand against the railing. Isabel could see Harry’s wand sticking carelessly out of his back pocket, and she sighed in relief.

Bagman finally stepped forward, pointing his wand at his own throat and muttering _Sonorus_. Soon, his voice filled the stadium as he introduced the teams. Bulgaria’s mascot, the Veelas, walked out to the field gracefully, swooning all those who dared to appreciate their beauty. Isabel had to admit, she couldn’t help but stare as they chanted and cheered for their team, and looking to her sides, she noticed that the boys were under the same spell.

“What the hell is wrong with them?” she heard Hermione whisper to Ginny.

“Dear, those are Veela!” Mr. Weasley answered, “What powerful, _alluring_ creatures, Veelas are.”

Bulgaria’s little cheerleading performance was interrupted by Ireland’s hilarious leprechauns, which angered the Veela. During this, Isabel kept looking at Harry’s back pocket, checking to see if the wand had already been taken, which it hadn’t. When Ireland’s number ended, it was time for the game to begin. Isabel had really, truly never seen something as amazing and, simultaneously, insane. The players made their dramatic entrances one by one, earning either screams of approval or booing from the crowd of a hundred thousand people. It was truly deafening, more so as Ron and the twins made an effort to have their voices heard amongst the others. She also found that, once the players really started getting their heads in the game, it was practically impossible to follow what was going on. All she could see was brooms flying at what looked almost like the speed of light to her, from one side of the field to the other. Every once in a while what she assumed were bludgers would escape the intended arena and fly towards someone in the bleachers, making the crowd roar with excitement. Much to the Weasleys' contempt, Ireland was winning by quite a huge margin.

“Even if Krum does manage to catch the Snitch as of right now, the Irish would win!” Ron yelled at his friend, laughing almost maniacally with enthusiasm “The Bulgarians are getting their arses beaten!”

“YEAH!” the twins screamed at this statement.

Not long after, the crowd held in their breaths as Viktor Krum suddenly plunged from his position high up in the sky, presumably having seen the snitch, sneakily tricking Ireland’s seeker, and consequently catching the snitch in his big hands.

“Oh my _God_ , oh my _God_!” Ron was squealing, “He did the _Wronski_! I can’t believe he actually did the _Wronski_!”

The crowd was cheering with excitement, every single person chanting at the same time. Surprisingly, the twins were right, and had won their bet with Ludo Bagman. In the midst of the festivities, Isabel sneakily took another look at Harry’s trousers, and noticed the wand was finally gone. Now, there was no way back; it was about to start.

The party continued back at the campsite, with fireworks and music and barbecuing and drinking. The kids were inside their tent, happily jumping around, celebrating Ireland’s victory. Harry still hadn’t thought of his wand’s absence, way too focused on the party to worry about it, thinking he’d probably just left it in his room.

“There’s no one like Krum!” Ron still felt the need to boast about Bulgaria’s seeker, despite them losing, and the twins mockingly copied his speech while waving Irish flags around the room, “He’s more than just an athlete, he’s an _artist_!”

“I think you’re in love, Ron,” Ginny made fun of her older brother.

They were left alone by Mr. Weasley and his older sons, who were joining a few old family friends to celebrate the victory, which only made Isabel even more terrified of the event that was about to happen. Suddenly, a bang was heard, louder than any of those before, and she knew it was about to get ugly.

“Seems like the Irish have got their pride on!” Fred commented.

Isabel couldn’t take the wait, afraid things could get out of control, “I don’t think that’s the Irish, Fred.”

They noticed the fear in her eyes and realized that maybe the situation was a bit more serious than they would like. Their concerns were confirmed by faint screaming, coming, it seemed, from across the campsite.

“Grab your things. NOW!” Isabel yelled, and the kids followed.

Soon, the others were at the door, sweaty and breathing heavily, with serious expressions tainting their previously triumphant faces.

“Dad, is everything alright?” Ron’s voice trembled.

“I’m afraid not… We have to go, right now,” he was surprised to see the kids had already packed the most important belongings back into their backpacks, “Let’s go.”

They stepped outside, seeing an eerie orange glow in the distance, the smoke, even if just residual, burning their throats. They heard someone call Mr. Weasley to help put out the fire, and he ran in the direction of the voice.

“Bill, Percy, we have to go with dad!” Charlie said.

“We can’t just leave them alone,” Bill pointed at the kids.

“They can fend for themselves, now come on!”

Bill shot a complicit glare at Isabel, as if warning her, _pleading_ for her to be careful.

“You two are in charge of Ginny,” he yelled at the twins as he was walking away.

“Alright, people, stick together!” George managed to let out, just before a huge crowd of people started running alongside them, separating them from Ron, Hermione, and Harry.

“Where’d they go?!” Ginny panicked.

“I don’t know,” Isabel lied, being fully aware of what was about to happen, “But we have to run.”

In the distance, the terrified pleas of what Isabel believed to be the Muggle camp keeper and his wife were heard, being tortured by the Death Eaters. Her suspicions were confirmed as, a few dozen meters to their left, she saw the woman's leg jiggling above the tents, as she was lifted in the air by her ankle. She quickened her pace, realizing just how close they were to her and her friends.

“The exit is that way,” Fred grabbed her hand, guiding her and his siblings to safety.

Isabel was confused; it sure as _hell_ didn’t look like there had been any ‘damage control’ done. Everything was happening exactly as it was destined to happen, and it was awful. Aurors were arriving right next to the spot where they were standing, apparating and then running straight towards the middle of the campsite, in hopes of finding the perpetrators of the still ongoing attack. Things, however, were seemingly calmer than just a few moments before, and Isabel knew it was close to done.

“No way…” Fred muttered alongside some other wizards, who were looking out at the sky, perplexed.

Isabel looked up, and there it was. The Dark Mark, clear as day in the starry sky, tinting it with a sickly neon green aura.

“What is it?” Ginny was confused.

“It’s _his_ mark!” someone yelled.


	11. The Aftermath

After the end of the attack, and after a thorough sweep of the campsite by Ministry officials, it was deemed that it was safe for the wizards to return to their tents. Isabel followed the Weasley’s back, still a bit shaken up by the events. Why hadn’t Dumbledore done as he’d promised? This question was floating around in Isabel’s mind, causing her a terrible, unbearable headache. When Harry Potter and the other were brought back by some Ministry officials, Isabel at least knew that aspect had, thankfully, gone according to plan as well.

“I can’t believe he actually fired Winky!” Hermione told Harry after their chaperone had left, “Mr. Crouch can’t possibly believe she did it! House-elves don’t know how to use magic the way we do!”

“Well, I’m just glad they know it wasn’t me…”

“But we _know_ it wasn’t her either! It was a man!” Hermione insisted. Isabel knew, of course, that Hermione was right, but she couldn’t say anything to confirm it.

“It’s no use mulling over that right now, kids,” Mr. Weasley sounded tired, “We should get some rest, we’ll be returning home first thing in the morning.”

With this, the kids dispersed, making their way to their separate bedrooms.

“Draco must have known something about the attack! What he said to Hermione…” Isabel couldn’t help but overhear Harry whispering to Ron, but she didn’t get to hear the answer, as she’d entered her and the girl’s shared room and closed the door behind her.

Isabel didn’t sleep at all that night. Usually, she would join Bill down in the yard when she was having trouble sleeping, but she thought none of them would be in the mood for it, so she just stayed in her bunk, staring at nothing, and hearing Hermione and Ginny’s soft breathing. She got up from her bed before anyone else had, getting dressed and mindlessly waiting for the others on the couch. The path to the Portkey was exactly the same as two days before, but somehow, with how exhausted everyone was, it seemed to be twice as far.

“I’m so glad you’re alright!” Molly Weasley said as she hugged her two youngest children. They’d finally returned to the Burrow and were more than ready for some peace and quiet, “Dear, I’m sorry, but you have you seen what they said on the Daily Prophet?”

Isabel went upstairs with the girls to change into some clean, comfortable clothes, and when she went back down, Mr. Weasley and Percy had already left to go to the Ministry and deal with the awful news coverage of the events.

“Kids, I forgot to mention, but your letters arrived while you were away,” Mr. Weasley handed them all the envelopes with the Hogwarts coat of arms stamped on the front. Isabel’s breath was stuck in her throat; she’d finally gotten her letter! This was enough to lighten up her mood. She proudly read her acceptance letter and skimmed over the long list of supplies that followed.

“Dress robes?” Ron said, genuinely perplexed, “What are we going to need dress robes for?”

“Don’t worry, dear, I’ve already gotten some hand-me-downs for you and the twins to wear. Now, I’m guessing the rest of you will need some new ones… Worry not, tomorrow we’ll go to Madam Malkin’s in Diagon Alley to help you pick out some. Isabel, dear…”

Isabel realised Mr. Weasley was about to talk about money, so she interrupted, “Don’t worry, Professor Dumbledore has already taken care of it.”

“Oh, then that’s set!”

Despite the temporary relief from her stress, Isabel couldn’t help but go back to her overthinking. She’d _tried_ to fix the events of that evening, yet, she’d failed! It was eating her up from the inside out, and a pit of guilt and fear kept growing inside her stomach. Furthermore, the events of that night had genuinely terrified her. Granted, she _knew_ what was supposed to happen, she _knew_ things could stray from her and Dumbledore’s plan; yet, having actually lived through the situation she had only thus far read about, it finally hit her how serious it actually was, and in how much actual, real-life danger she could really have been in. She shivered at the thought of her ruthlessness and carelessness during the events, letting her guard down, thinking her condition would keep her safe. No, she’d been far too reckless, she’d strayed too far from her intentions; from then on, she’d have to focus on her own safety, and on her part in helping fight Voldemort.

Fred noticed how distant Isabel had been since what had happened. He couldn’t blame her; it had been quite traumatic to everyone. Yet, he couldn’t help but notice how introspective she seemed, chewing on her bottom lip, furrowing her eyebrows every once in a while, as if trying to think of a solution for a problem only she knew of. He couldn’t help but appreciate how beautiful she looked. It’s true, he’d been flirting with her for a while, and his attraction for her was undeniable, but it wasn’t until he’d instinctively reached for her hand in that moment of stress and fear that he realized just how much he was starting to like her. His heart sank at the sight of her quiet despair, wondering just _what_ he could do to ease it. To add to Fred’s confusion, Isabel went all day without retributing his flirty stares at all. Even when he decided to take it a step further, brushing slightly against her back, his hand sliding over her hips while she helped Molly clear the table after dinner, his flirting went unanswered.

“You scared the shit out of me,” was the faint sentence he managed to earn out of his little endeavour.

She went to bed without even speaking another word to anyone else, and Fred felt cornered. What could he do to get her alone, to just get her to _speak_ to him at all? The answer came to him a couple of hours later, in the familiar sound of Ginny’s door opening and footsteps tiptoeing down the stairs. He was already lying in his bed, absolutely exhausted and about to fall asleep, but he simply couldn’t pass up on an opportunity like this. He tried his best to quietly get up from his bed, but somehow his twin managed to hear him, muttering ‘Creep’ under his breath and turning his back to him. Upon arriving on the first floor, where Ginny’s room was, he made sure to check his older brothers’ room, so he wouldn’t risk their little chat being interrupted by Bill. When he confirmed that both were sleeping soundly in their beds, he finally went down to the garden, where he knew Isabel would be. He quietly opened the kitchen door, stepping outside into a warm summer night. There she was, sitting on the bench, staring quietly at the moon with the same expression she’d had plastered across her face all day.

“Hey…” he whispered, trying not to startle her. She looked up, her eyes glowing under the moonlight.

“I thought you were Bill…” she looked down at her feet, shyly trying to avoid his gaze, “Not that I don’t _enjoy_ your company… I just- it’s usually Bill who meets me here.”

“I know…” she looked at him, surprised he was aware of their meetings, “You guys aren’t as sneaky as you think.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, the stairs are quite… Creaky,” Fred had all those thoughts in his mind he wanted to share, but at the moment they all seemed to have vanished.

After a few awkward minutes of silence, Isabel cleared her throat, “So…”

“So…”

“What really brings you down here?”

“Uhm…” this was his chance to speak up, and he didn’t want to ruin it, “Listen, I’ve been thinking…”

“You’ve been thinking?” she said incredulously, trying to lighten the mood, “That’s a new one.”

He chuckled nervously, “Yeah, uhm. Last night was terrifying,” she nodded in agreement, “And when we were trying to leave, and we got separated from the others, I couldn’t help but think, what if I had lost you in the crowd? What if…?” he hesitated.

“Where’re you trying to get?” she inquired, confused at his words.

“Listen, the relief I felt when I grabbed your hand, when I realized we hadn’t lost you, and you were standing right by my side… I like you, Isabel. I think I really do. And it’s confusing the shit out of me, because I don’t usually feel this way, and…”

“Fred…” she interrupted.

“No, listen, please, I- I don’t know how to deal with these feelings…”

“Fred, this has been fun… Really, it has. But last night also made me realize something. And, and-" she struggled to put her feelings into words, afraid they would sound too harsh, “Fred, we barely know each other!”

Fred frowned, slightly hurt and confused by her words, “Listen, I _know_ that, alright?! I know it’s kind of irrational, and maybe even a bit impulsive, but it’s _true_!”

“Fred, I,” tears were tainting her big, brown eyes, “I’m _terrified_. Last night was terrifying and it made me realize just how serious this situation is…” she knew he wouldn’t know what she was talking about but, at that moment, she was far too gone to care.

“What situation?!”

“Everything!” she yelled back, but quickly lowered her voice, “Everything. All that has been going on has just made me realize how childish and innocent and, frankly, dumb we’ve been acting! Fred, you don’t like me; you think I’m pretty, you like that I’m shy and nervous around you, you like the thought of flirting with me, you like that I’m someone new and exciting you can get to know… But you don’t like me, _fuck_ , you barely even know me at all!”

“Well, fuck, we can fix that!” it was his turn to scream back at her, “We can get to know each other, we can get closer, we can…” he softened his tone, “All I’m asking is for you to give me a chance!”

Isabel shook her head, nervous tears running down her soft, rosy cheeks. She brought her hand up to wipe them, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“You look so pretty, even when you’re crying, you know that?” he said what he was thinking out of impulse, not thinking of his words.

“Stop…” she couldn’t help but slightly chuckle through her tears, a smile finally appearing on her face, “Sucking up to me isn’t gonna earn you anything… Especially when it’s not true!”

“Well, it’s already earned me a smile,” he let his hand rest lightly on her thigh, brushing comforting circles with his thumb, “And I’m not lying. It is true, as sadistic as it might sound. You’re quite the pretty crier.”

Isabel hid her face in her hands, embarrassed at the compliment. At this sudden lightened mood, Fred took the opportunity to slide closer to her until the sides of their legs were touching. He lifted his hand from her thigh, bringing it up to her face, where hers were still covering her eyes. He pulled them down softly and carefully, revealing her puffy eyes, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Now, there’s no reason to cry,” the pair laughed lightly at her emotional outburst.

“I know, it’s just… I’m- It was just so scary.”

His hands squeezed hers, comforting the girl further. He stared at her lips, soft and pink, a slight hint of blood where she’d been biting them earlier. He looked up at her eyes, staring directly at his. He leaned forward slowly, giving her time to state her objections, if there were any. But instead, he was met with her mimicking his actions, their lips meeting in a soft kiss, her hands leaving their tight embrace to meet the back of his neck, pulling him closer than they already were, if that was even possible. His own hands made their way to the small of her back, grabbing at her soft linen dress, wishing it wasn’t there separating his hand from her soft skin.

“Wow…” she pulled away, whispering into his lips.

“I told you we could work it out,” Fred joked, earning a giggle from the girl whose lips were still lightly brushing against his, causing goosebumps to erupt where her hands touched his skin.

“I like the way you think, Weasley, but I have to be honest with you…”

“Yes?”

“Now that we’re going to be attending Hogwarts together, I gotta admit… I don’t think you’ll like me as much after I get sorted…”

“What’s that supposed…”

He stopped halfway through his question, hearing a deep voice coming from behind him, “Am I interrupting something?” Bill smirked at the sight of his little brother snuggling with a girl, knowing this would be a good teasing matter in the future, watching as the two struggled to put some distance between each other, ashamed, “I could leave you two be, if you’d like?”

“No, no, no,” Isabel insisted as she stood up, “I was just about to leave,” she made an effort to fake yawn, “Long day, I’m off to bed!”

She practically ran inside, her cheeks a deep shade of red, and Bill couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, “So, Fred, getting lucky, I see!”

“Shut up…”


	12. Blush

Isabel ran up the stairs, but instead of stopping on the first floor and entering her and the girls’ shared room, she continued until she reached the old wood door of the bathroom. She closed it behind her, and stared at her own fleshy, pink-tinted lips, running her finger along the spot. She put her hands over her face, screaming in excitement, thankfully muffling it enough with her own fingers so no one else in the house would listen. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her mind going a thousand miles an hour, her hands shaking slightly. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. She felt like a little kid, all giddy and electrified over a little kiss, but she really couldn’t help herself. She took a minute to recollect herself, trying to get her cheeks to come down from the deep shade of red they were, but failing miserably.

“Is anyone in here?” she heard what seemed to be Ron whispering at the door, knocking softly and quietly. “I need to wee.”

“One second!” she murmured back, splashing cold water in her face as a last resource before she had to exit the tiny bathroom. She did her best to try and subtly hide her face behind her hair as well, brushing the long locks forward with her wet fingers, only causing it to frizz. Finally, she realized it was no use; her best bet would be to quickly walk by Ron and pray he wouldn’t notice the intense blush across her cheeks. She unlocked the door, quickly walking out, but bumping into a tall figure that stood in front of her in the dimly lit corridor, “Sorry.”

“Are you feeling ill? You’re blushing like hell!” Ron noted.

“Erm… No? Why? I just…” she tried to escape his gaze, but he insisted, putting his arm forward in front of her.

“Isabel, really, if you’re feeling ill you can say so, mum will gladly help you.”

“It’s- it’s fine! I’m not ill, I’m just, I don’t know… Tired. Off to bed!” she finally managed to escape his hold, causing a deep look of confusion on the boy’s face. She virtually ran all the way down to the bedroom, trying her best to escape another awkward encounter. Yet, despite her efforts, as she reached the first floor, she ran straight into another of the boy’s chest.

“Isabel!” Bill’s deep voice boomed through her ears.

“Good night!” she tried to avoid the starting of a conversation, quickly making her way to the door.

“Isabel, wai-“ but he didn’t get to finish, as she closed the door behind her. The girls were sleeping soundly in their beds, not having noticed her presence at all, and she took a deep breath, relieved. Despite the way her thoughts were racing in her mind, it seemed like they were going in circles, always coming back to Fred; the way he grabbed her, the way his lips felt, soft and gentle against hers, the way his hair felt tangled up in her hand, the way he’d comforted her when she was crying, holding her hands, brushing his thumb gently over her wet cheeks. She knew it was dumb, she’d told him herself… They barely knew each other, and there were far more important and dangerous things to be worried about, but at that moment she just really didn’t care. For yet another night, Isabel dreamed of the cheeky red-haired boy.

Isabel woke up to the sound of two girls giggling. Her eyes fluttered open, having trouble adjusting to the light that came in through the open window, a soft summer breeze refreshing her exposed arms. She’d kicked the blanket off of her while she slept, making her bed look almost like a battlefield, with entangled sheets, blankets, and legs. She yawned loudly, catching the girls’ attention.

“Isabel! You’ve finally decided to join us,” Ginny joked, “Go on, get dressed, we’re leaving soon!”

Isabel threw on some loose denim shorts, which looked like they’d been cut up from one of Bill’s or Charlie’s old pair of pants. The kids’ had a long, tiring day ahead of them, shopping for school supplies in Diagon Alley, and so she valued comfort over style. Once she was ready, the three walked together downstairs, encountering an already full living room. Fred was standing by the fireplace, leaning over the mantle, having a chat with his twin. Isabel tried to go unnoticed by the boy, but Mrs. Weasley gave her up, urging her to grab a bite of toast before the group left. He looked up at her, smirking, teasing her with the obvious unspoken words he wanted to tell her about the previous night. Isabel stared at her feet while she walked to the kitchen, trying to hide the blush in her cheeks (which by now seemed to be a constant) from both Fred and the rest.

“How will we be travelling?” she asked Mrs. Weasley, trying to distract herself from the attractive boy she’d seen in the living room.

“Oh dear, we’re using Floo Powder!” Molly responded, to which Isabel nodded, “It might be a bit confusing at first, but don’t worry, we’re here to help.”

After she ate, they made their way back to the crowded living room, and Isabel took a seat next to Bill, opposite from where the twins stood.

“Alright, kids… Bill, you go first,” Molly said, “Just watch how he does it, dear!”

Isabel observed as the boy with a dragon tooth earring grabbed a bit of powder from the little satchel in Molly Weasley's hand, walking into the fireplace and yelling ‘Diagon Alley’, disappearing, as if he’d burned up in green flames.

“Do you think you can handle it, dear?” she turned to Isabel.

“Yeah, yeah, I do…” she nervously copied the boy’s actions, grabbing a handful of powder, stating as clearly as she could, “Diagon Alley!”

The world seemed to blend into bright, green flames, and, suddenly, she stood in front of the tall boy who’d stepped into the fireplace right before her.

“How was that?” he laughed at her astonished face, “Now, you should probably get out of the way, or else one of my brother’s is going to land right on top of you.”

He pulled her by the arm gently. Stepping out of the fireplace, Isabel finally noticed the room they were in. It was a large hall, full of fireplaces, constantly lighting up in big flames, revealing each time a different wizard who’d just arrived. Soon after her, the others started coming out of the large fireplace, and when Molly Weasley, who’d been left for last, exited, the group finally made their way outside.

“Wow…” Isabel’s jaw dropped in aw at the sight of a huge street, full of robed people, magical stores, owls, cats, everything she’d ever dreamed Diagon Alley would be like but better, grander, more astonishing.

“Alright, first stop, Gringotts!” Molly guided them to the biggest building in the street, “Bill, you’ll help them. Harry, Isabel, _chop chop_ , in you go; we’ll just wait outside!”

They walked into the huge room, with a crystal chandelier hanging from the insanely high ceilings. All over the place, tiny little creatures walked around the ornamented floor, carrying packages, gold coins and papers. Isabel noticed the two boys were already quite ahead of her, who’d stopped to look up at the huge skylight right in the middle of the bank. She jogged up to them, startling a goblin that was walking around with a stack of papers big enough to cover up his face. They finally reached the tall table at the back of the room, and Bill addressed the goblin that sat on the tall chair, giving him both Harry’s and Isabel’s keys. The goblin stepped down from his high seat, walking towards a door that stood behind him. It took him about twenty minutes to finally come back with two little satchels in his hands, handing them to each of the kids. Isabel peeked inside, staring at her own gold and silver coins, feeling a bit disoriented, finally realizing she had no idea how wizard money worked.

Bill noticed her sudden confusion, and giggled at her, “Don’t worry, mum will help. And I reckon you have plenty more where that came from…”

After Gringotts, they went straight to Flourish and Blott’s to purchase the kids’ new schoolbooks. Isabel picked her new books for her mandatory subjects (which, according to the list, were Transfiguration, Potions, History of Magic, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy and Herbology”. She didn’t know what optional subjects she would be taking just yet, and so she did as her Hogwarts letter instructed, waiting until she’d actually arrived in school to then order the necessary supplies. After getting their books, the group made their way to Potage’s Cauldrons to get Isabel all she needed for Potions class. Meanwhile, they’d let Bill go buy them writing supplies by himself. They all reunited in front of Madam Malkin’s shop, which would undoubtedly be their most time-consuming stop yet.

“Hello,” Molly Weasley’s voice rang through the store. An old woman’s head peeked from behind a pile of unfinished robes and cloth, “These three need some dress robes, and Isabel here also needs her very first Hogwarts robes!”

“Oh dear, congratulations! Hogwarts is the best wizarding school in the world, you’ll see,” the woman, who Isabel assumed to be Madam Malkin, was chewing on something, probably having a snack while she had a little break from customers, “Alright, let’s do the girl’s robes first.”

Isabel stepped onto a little wooden platform, stretching her arms out as Madame Malkin had instructed her. Measuring tape came flying around the room, stretching along her arms and torso while Madame Malkin wrote down her measurements in a bit of parchment paper. When she’d already noted down all she needed, huge pieces of black cloth came flying from the pile that stood previously in front of the seamstress, wrapping around her, weighing on her shoulders. Madame Malkin started putting pins down across her figure, marking where she’d need to sow the fabric. Soon enough, the fabric came floating off of her, landing on top of a mannequin nearby.

“Now, I’ll get back to that soon. Does the boy want a simple, classic robe?” Mrs. Weasley answered with a nod, “Alright, and then the girls… This will need a bit more creative output… I say we take the boys measurements and then focus on these two gorgeous faces!”

And did as such. The work with Harry was quickly done, and he exited the shop to join the rest of his friends. Madam Malkin’s attention was now solely on the girls, who walked around the store picking fabric, marvelled by the beautiful, wide selection they had at their will. Hermione swiftly decided on some beautiful, blue satin, that shone in the store’s candlelight with the most beautiful pearly tones. Isabel, however, found herself having a bit more difficulty than her peer, overwhelmed by her vast options. She finally felt entranced by a roll of deep, emerald-green velvet that was tucked away in one of the shelves.

“Bold choice! Let’s see what we can do with it.”

Madam Malkin stretched her arm out, a book flying to her hands. She showed them different silhouettes, styles, and design options, and the girls listened, deciding what their favourite options were. When everything was set, and the girls had been yet again measured and fitted for their dresses, Madam Malkin told them they were free to go, and that everything should be ready by the end of the day for them to pick up. As they exited the store, Isabel looked back, to see needles and thread flying around what was soon to be their ball gowns, sowing away at Madam Malkin’s command.

“Alright, we only have one thing left to do!” Molly turned to Isabel.

“We have to get my wand!” Isabel had to admit, she was more than thrilled to finally go to Ollivander’s. It would have been _torture_ to have to wait all day for the much-awaited moment, if the rest of Diagon Alley wasn’t just as exciting as it was. They walked down the street to the old wand shop. The rest of the group was already there, all eating what looked to be ice cream, tucked away against the front of the shop so they wouldn’t be taking up space in the main street.

“Mum! Took you long enough,” Fred commented at the sight of her mother.

“I’m sorry, kids, we took a little longer than expected at Madam Malkin’s… But it seems you’ve still had fun regardless,” she pointed at their bags, that read ‘Gambol & Japes Joke Shop’, “I hope you’re not thinking of bringing Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes back… Right, anyway, Isabel, dear, maybe it’s best for us to wait outside.”

“Yeah, we’re basically a crowd! No way we’d all fit in there!” Ron added.

“Well, maybe Bill can help,” Molly thought out loud, “Maybe just keep you company.”

“Fine by me,” Bill said, to which Isabel also nodded in compliance.

They walked in through the squeaky old door, making the bell on top of it ring stridently. They heard some boxes falling and crashing from the back of the store, and what seemed to be wands rolling around, as Mr. Ollivander’s fast-paced steps sounded, coming in their direction. Finally, the man with messy white hair showed up from behind a huge shelf, stretching towards the ceiling full of boxes.

“Alright, who do we have here… Ah! Mr. Weasley, how nice it is to see you!” Ollivander commented in a lively manner, staring between the boy and Isabel as if desperately trying to remember something, “I don’t recall there being yet _another_ Weasley… I’m guessing this one is not part of the pack!”

“That’s right, she’s ... well, a guest,” the boy smile at Isabel.

“I’m Isabel,” she shook the man’s hand, causing him to jump, as if realizing something, and run to a nearby stepladder, grabbing a box from a high shelf.

“Vinewood, dragon heartstring core…” he said, grabbing it from inside the box and handing it to her. He noticed her hesitant stare, and so he assured her, “Come on, give it a wave!”

This was the moment Isabel was waiting for, finally using a wand. She moved her hand gracefully, afraid she could cause any damage if she moved any faster. This was no use, she noted, for a nearby vase seemed to explode into tiny little pieces, closer to dust than to glass. Mr. Ollivander shook his head, carefully grabbing the wand from Isabel’s hand, in case she would accidentally do it again. He tried a couple more, always resulting in some destructive event such as before, until he finally fetched a box from what seemed like the highest shelf in the entire shop.

“Well…” he sighed, looking at the very old, extremely dusty box in his hands, “It’s worth giving it a try…”

Isabel held out her hand, afraid of what could possibly go wrong this time. But, instead, bright rays of light, almost like the summer sun rays that were shining outside, shone from the wand that she held in her hands. Her hair floated in a breeze, startling her, since she couldn’t really tell where it was coming from. Ollivander smiled, marveled at the success.

“Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! I cannot believe it!” he exclaimed, examining the wand before putting it away in its box, “Cedarwood, phoenix feather core, eleven inches and three quarters, slightly springy…”

“I’m sorry, but what does that mean?” sable questioned his excitement.

“Oh dear, of course… This is one of the oldest wands I have in my shop! It’s been sitting in that shelf, gathering up dust since my grandfather made it, way, way back.”

“And so I chose the oldest wand in the shop?”

“Dear, it chose you! Yes, a very picky wand indeed…” he lost himself in his thoughts again, snapping out of it when Bill cleared his throat, “Ah, yes, as I was saying, this wand is very selective. Cedar usually is, as well as phoenix feather! They only honour those with strength of character, unusually loyal people. I’ve never met a wizard with a cedar wood wand that I would care to cross, I’ll tell you that! I always saw great feats when I thought of the possible carrier of this wand… It would have to be a very powerful, cunning, and ambitious wizard. Headstrong, I guess you could say…”

He handed her the box of her brand-new wand. His speech had left her intrigued. She’d never given that much thought to what her wand would be, and she defiantly hadn’t guessed it would be so unique. She wondered why such a powerful, fastidious wand would have ever picked her; she didn’t consider herself to have any of the characteristics Mr. Ollivander described. Despite her confusion, she was still thrilled to take it out and show it off to her friends, who passed it around as Bill told them what had happened inside.

They spent the rest of the day at Diagon Alley, waiting for Madame Malkin to finish their robes. When they were finally done, neatly wrapped in silk and tied together with yarn, the group travelled back to the Burrow through the Floo Network again. Everyone was pretty tired, so the living room emptied quickly. Isabel was, indeed, tired, but she was also too excited to go to bed at that moment. She couldn’t stop mulling over what had happened the night before, and about what Mr. Ollivander had said about her wand, wondering if maybe it had chosen her because of her 'special abilities’.

“Hey…” Fred sat next to her on the couch. Isabel was so absorbed in her own thought that she hadn’t realized that there was no one else left downstairs but her and the cheeky ginger boy.

“Oh, hey Fred…” her shyness got the best of her, and she made her best effort to hide behind her hair. Fred noticed this, bringing his hand up to brush it from her face and tuck it behind her ear affectionately.

“You don’t need to be all shy around me,” he laughed, “As if we didn’t snog last night…”

“Jesus, Fred…” she blushed, causing him to laugh even more. He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss on her cheeks, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

“Care to do it again?” he joked, causing Isabel to playfully slap his leg, “ _Alright_ , alright…”

Despite Isabel’s words, Fred still leaned forward, encapsulating her tender lips, this time dry and sweet, unlike last night, in a passionate kiss. Isabel, however much she’d protested, still kissed him back, entranced by his sweet, cotton-candy like taste, probably from all the sweets they’d bought at Diagon Alley. His other arm made its way to her leg, grabbing the soft, meaty tissue, inviting her to hoist it up over him. She obliged gladly, sitting on top of him, her hands running down his chest. She could feel him, despite all the layers that were between them, and it made her stomach flutter. Fred’s hands met behind her back, pulling her tighter into their embrace, causing a small whimper to slip from her lips and into his mouth.


	13. The Departure

Isabel and Fred’s heated make-out session never went beyond that. Soon, Isabel pulled away from Fred’s hungry lips, smiling at the desperate look in his eyes when he noticed she wasn’t diving back in, instead of getting up from his lap, walking up to her room and leaving his pleas unanswered. Fred sighed at the girl’s teasing attitude, but he couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of the state she’d left him in.

It was quite a busy week at the Burrow; the kids were starting to pack to go back to Hogwarts, and trying to enjoy the most out of the rest of their holidays, and so the house was submerged in chaos. Isabel and Fred had barely any time alone with each other, always being interrupted by something or someone, coming in at the worst possible time. Sometimes, they were lucky, crossing paths as one went up, and another went down the stairs, stealing a quick peck to satiate their mutual desire. Isabel had actually quite enjoyed their secrecy and abstinence, exploiting every chance she had to subtly tease Fred, loving the way his body would subconsciously react to her, tensing up, biting his lip, and even sometimes having to put a pillow over himself when she got particularly cheeky, bending down to pick up a book she’d dropped on the living room floor.

“You’re pushing it,” he’d whispered in her ear once, when they sat next to each other at dinner.

“That’s the plan,” she said, making Fred lift his eyebrow, surprised at her sudden confidence.

“You’re gonna regret it,” he teased, but instead she just giggled in return, ignoring him and jumping in on a conversation that was going on between Harry Potter and Arthur Weasley, regarding Muggle technology.

“You’d know about Muggle technology as well, wouldn’t you, Isabel?” Mr. Weasley addressed her.

“I guess-“ she gasped slightly when Fred’s hand landed on her thigh, toying with the hem of her dress, driving it up her legs as he stroked them slightly. Thankfully, no one had noticed her surprise, getting too absorbed into Arthur Weasley’s excited speech about the inner workings of a car.

“Now _you’re_ pushing it, Freddie…” she managed to furtively whisper in his ear, earning a chuckle in return, and a harsh squeeze to her leg.

“Two can play that game.”

Their little endeavours never went beyond just this. Fred found himself constantly getting worked up, having to slip upstairs to go to the bathroom or his bedroom and calm himself down. The way Fred was acting around her, so needy, almost undressing her with his eyes, caused Isabel’s confidence to jump, realizing just the hold she had on the poor boy.

“So you and my brother, huh?” Bill told her the first night they met after he’d caught her and Fred red-handed.

“It’s not like _that_ …” she blushed.

“No, no, you just snog occasionally, it really isn’t like _that_!” he made fun of her, and she laughed in embarrassment.

“Listen,” she tried to explain herself, being interrupted by his laugh, “We’re just having fun!”

“I noticed…”

“No,” she couldn’t help but laugh alongside him, “it’s true. We haven’t really done anything besides _that_!”

“Yes, that’s why I heard two little sets of footsteps coming up the stairs the other day…”

Isabel realized what he was referring to, and she hid her face in her hands, blushing at the thought of anyone else noticing her and Fred’s little escapade in the living room, causing Bill to laugh yet again at her awkwardness.

It was finally the day before they’d leave for Hogwarts. Everyone, Isabel in particular, was jumping around in excitement. They were all basically done packing, and there was nothing else to do but enjoy their last free day. The kids took this as an opportunity to go to the nearby lake one last time.

“You look so good in those tiny bikini bottoms…” Fred came up behind her, whispering in her ear.

He’d taken advantage of their friend’s distraction, playing a very intense game of water volley, to grab her waist from behind, pressing himself slightly against her, as if asking her, wondering if it was alright for him to touch her like that. He got his response in Isabel pushing her hips back into his, brushing herself against his swimming trunks, making a gasp flutter from his lips. She smirked at his reaction, pulling away from the embrace, swimming towards land to lie down on her towel, basking in the afternoon sun. Fred shook his head in her direction, sightly annoyed but still very much pleasantly surprised at her daring teasing.

“Care to join us, or do you have a _little problem_ to take care of?” George had swum up to his brother, noticing his incessant stares at Isabel’s figure, gracefully sprawled across her towel in the field.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tried to mask it, but his voice gave him away.

“Fred, it’s no use trying to hide this, from me of all people…” he pointed down to his twin’s trunks, “And I don’t think you realize just how little your shorts hide, brother…”

Fred stared down at himself, sinking deeper into the water to mask what his twin had just pointed out. George couldn’t help but laugh as he swam back to where the group was, shaking his head. Isabel, even from her distant resting spot, noticed Fred’s embarrassment, amused at the effect she’d had on him.

After swimming, the group took up the task of finding Crookshanks, Hermione’s ginger cat, who’d been running free around the Burrow ever since she’d arrived, and really wasn’t keen on being confined to the inside of a house again. This proved to be harder than they’d imagined, as the cat always somehow managed to flee before they even managed to touch its fuzzy fur.

For dinner, Molly had decided yet again to do something special as a goodbye to the kids, making all sorts of desserts and sweets for them to enjoy. Fred had sat next to Isabel again, causing a few knowing looks from George and Bill, the only two who were aware of the pair’s adventures. His feet playfully crashed against hers occasionally, kicking her softly under the table, desperately trying to get her attention.

“What is it?” she finally gave in, whispering through gritted teeth.

“Meet me outside after everyone goes to bed.”

“What if Bill decides to show up as well, you know he usually does…”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

They left it at that. Everyone went upstairs after dinner, which had already in itself ended at a very late hour, yet no one seemed to be able to fall asleep.

“Oh, and Quidditch, it’s _marvellous_!” Ginny and Hermione spent about an hour boasting about their school, “You’ll see, the matches are the coolest thing that happens at Hogwarts!”

Isabel loved how excited they were, but she couldn’t help but to think of a particular red-haired boy, who was probably already waiting for her downstairs, “That’s great…” she paused “I think I need to go to the loo…”

She stood up, walking out the room, but instead of going up the stairs to the bathroom, she made her way down to the kitchen, trying her best not to make any noises that could possibly give her away. When she got to the door, she noticed someone had left it ajar, probably so whoever followed wouldn’t make any noise opening it. She stepped outside, instantly being met with Fred’s hungry stare. The boy stood up from the bench, wrapping his arms around the tiny girl, their lips meeting in a desperate, long-awaited kiss.

“Finally…” he said as they pulled away to breathe, and guided her to the bench, lifting her to sit on top of him, exactly the way they’d done the previous time, “I was wondering when I’d have you all to myself.”

“Me too…” she gasped when she felt his hand slide down her back, grabbing her ass.

They stayed like this for a while, eagerly joining their lips, their tongues dancing in unison, touching every bit of each other they could. Finally, when Isabel’s lips were already starting to get numb, they pulled away. Isabel snuggled into him, resting her head against his chest, listening to his racing heartbeat.

“I can’t wait till we’re at Hogwarts,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head.

“I know… I can’t believe I’m actually going to be a student there… It’s insane, I can’t… I can’t even put it into words, really.”

“What house do you think you’ll be sorted in?” he asked, unassumingly, causing Isabel’s breath to hitch in her throat.

“Uhm- I don’t know, really, I- Yeah, I haven’t thought about that, I guess,” she lied, not wanting Fred to push this question any further.

“You’ll see, you’ll get into Gryffindor. And then we’ll get to hang out whenever we want…” he paused for a second, noticing her quietness, “You’ll see, Gryffindor is the best house! You’ll be welcomed into open arms!”

“I’m sure…”

Isabel woke up in the morning, feeling more rested than usual, at least comparing to the other nights in which she’d had trouble sleeping as well. Hermione was already up, drawing open the curtains so the sunlight would come in, waking up the two still sleeping girls. Ginny groaned loudly, throwing her pillow at Hermione in protest.

“Come on,” Hermione said, throwing it back, “It’s time to get up, already!”

“Don’t want to…” Ginny mumbled, turning so that she was lying on her stomach, pressing her face against the mattress.

Isabel, however, jumped up from her bed, eager to start the day. She grabbed the clothes she had put aside the night before, throwing them on.

“So…” Hermione started, trying to sound as unassuming as possible, “Last night you took quite a long time in the toilet…”

Ginny, despite having her head buried in her bed covers, laughed audibly. Isabel blushed, thinking of a way to justify her long absence, but she seemed to lack the proper words.

“Uhm… What do you mean?”

“She means,” Ginny lifted her head, “you took an awful lot of time for someone who just wanted to go to the toilet… So, either you had the worst case of constipation _ever_ , or you had something else to do…”, both the girls scoffed, clearly aware of Isabel’s whereabouts the previous night.

“Uhm, I just… I just went for a little stroll, that’s all…”

“Uhm, did you perhaps have any _male_ company in that little stroll…?” they both giggled again at Hermione’s suggestion.

“Alright, what do you know?!” Isabel realized the girls were aware of a lot more than they made it seem.

“Oh, nothing, just a _little birdy_ told me it might have seen you and my brother snogging in our yard last night…”

“Oh my God…” Isabel tried to hide behind her flannel in embarrassment, bringing the sleeves up to cover up her face, “I’m going downstairs for breakfast. Anyone care to join me?” she tried to change the subject.

“Alright, alright…” Hermione giggled, walking with her to the door, “Keep us in the dark, we don’t mind…”

When they got downstairs, they found Mr. Weasley crouching by the fireplace, staring at the green fire that burned on the inside. Amos Diggory’s head seemed to be sculpted in the embers of the green fire, talking to the man in front of him unassumingly.

“…Mad-Eye is still pretty shaken up! He insists he was being attacked…” Mr. Diggory stopped once he noticed the girl’s presence, lowering his voice so that only Mr. Weasley would be able to hear him. His secrecy was no use, however; Isabel knew exactly what he was talking about, and everything seemed to be going according to plan.

They ate breakfast rather quickly, only being joined by Ginny once they were almost done entirely. Fred came downstairs just before his little sister, smirking at Isabel as he bid everyone good morning. Soon enough, it was time for them to leave. Mrs. Weasley had called them some cabs, insisting on them travelling to King’s Cross the Muggle way. Somehow, miraculously, the kids, Mrs. Weasley, and Bill, who’d come to help them, all managed to fit inside of just three cabs, squeezy together, even with their big trunks, owl cages and a very unamused Crookshanks, who sat on Hermione’s lap. It was quite a long trip, and they still had most of the journey ahead of them. They arrived at King’s Cross just about half an hour before they had to board, and Mrs. Weasley paid the taxi-drivers an obscene amount of Muggle money. Despite still having plenty of time, they decided to go to platform 9 ¾ right away.

“Isabel, dear, now, all you have to do is run straight into the wall!” Mrs. Weasley instructed her, “Don’t be afraid!”

Isabel did as she said, and just when she should have hit the hard brick wall, she crossed over to a huge platform, full of kids and parents sporting similar trunks and terribly matched Muggle outfits. The rest of the kids crossed behind her one by one.

“We could share a compartment,” Fred whispered, walking close to her.

“I think the girls would suspect if I decided to stay with you instead of them…”

“Fair enough,” he gave in, “Just promise we can meet after the welcome feast is over…”

Instead of answering, Isabel just smirked at the eager boy beside her. The conversation ended as she noticed Bill walking towards the two of them.

“Isabel, are you excited?”

“I really am… Barely managed to sleep, actually,” she chuckled.

“Well, don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll fit right in,” he paused, “I’m sure you and Fred will have a lot of fun, no parent’s around, plenty of dark corners…” he made sure his brother listened to this last part. Fred laughed cheekily, but Isabel blushed in embarrassment.

“Kids, it’s time for you to board, it’s about to leave!”

“Alright, I guess this is goodbye, for now,” Bill said, hugging her, “Good luck, don’t get too distracted by my brothers’ antics…”

“She’s _lucky_ we’re gonna be there to spice things up!” George intervened, climbing into the train.

“Oh, and I’m sure you will all have a very unconventional year at Hogwarts…” he added, causing his siblings to stare at him in confusion, “Trust me on that.”

They got in one by one, Bill helping her hoist her trunk up. Isabel, the girls, Ron and Harry all picked one compartment. Isabel noticed Fred’s unamused look as he walked past, staring at her with puppy dog eyes. Once they’d settled in, the train started moving slowly, gaining speed as it took off from the station, Mrs. Weasley and Bill waving goodbye.

The trip was beautiful, a long journey through the English countryside, beautiful green fields that stretched as far as the view could see, and forests so dark it seemed like it was the middle of the night. Isabel also found it quite wonderful being able to watch her new colleagues walking by their compartment, each one more interesting than the other.

“We’re almost there, we should probably get dressed,” Hermione noted.

Just as Isabel had finished getting into her robes, the train came to a halt. Students flooded out of compartments into the tiny hall, trying to exit the train. When Isabel finally managed to get out, she was met by a powerful loud voice, screaming ‘First years this way!’ above the crowd. She’d been separated from her friend’s, who’d stayed behind at the sound of a voice calling out ‘Potter!’, which she assumed would be Draco Malfoy.

“Ah, ya’ must be Isabel!” the absurdly tall man addressed her, “M’name is Hagrid, the groundskeeper. Dumbledore told me to find ya’. Well, ya gon’ have to follow me. Dumbledore said yer’ to go wit’ the first years!”

Isabel moved along the mass of small kids towards the boats, feeling extremely ridiculous to be amongst them. They walked through a cobbled path for a few minutes. Isabel was looking down at her feet, making sure she wouldn’t trip in any of the irregular stones, until she heard a few of the kids gasp. She looked up, and there it was, beyond the moonlit lake, a majestic castle sat imposingly on a cliff.

“Her’ya go, kids! Welcome to Hogwarts!”


	14. The Sorting Hat

Isabel stepped out of her little boat carefully, so she wouldn’t fall into the lake. The way up the stone stairs was quite exhausting, but the unobstructed view over the lake was enough to make up for it; it was truly breath-taking. They eager first years finally reached the entrance courtyard, waiting for Hagrid’s instructions. Isabel couldn’t help but stare at the little kids, many as terrified as her, grabbing onto their robes nervously.

“Alrite’…!” Hagrid said running up to the front of the herd of tiny humans, “At my instruction, ye’ll go inside.”

They waited for a little while longer, until Professor McGonagall’s head peaked through the huge wooden gates, signalling for Hagrid to come in.

“Off we go, kids! Follo’ me,” he got the group to start nervously and hesitantly walking towards the doors, which opened revealing a huge hall, made of stone from floor to ceiling. Now, there was only a closed set of doors separating them from the rest of the students they would be attending Hogwarts with. Isabel looked to her right, just in time to catch a far away glimpse of one of the stairs in the giant staircase move positions.

“Welcome, students, to your first year at Hogwarts!” Professor McGonagall’s voice sounded loud and clear, causing the scared first years to cease their conversations entirely. She gave them a curt speech, telling them about their soon to be home, and explaining the sorting ceremony to them, “Don’t be nervous when it’s your time to get sorted. The Sorting Hat has _never_ been wrong, and so you’ll most definitely fit in at your assigned houses.”

With this, Hagrid opened the Great Hall doors at McGonagall’s command, and the kids rushed inside.

“Ah, and here they are!” Dumbledore pointed at the new arrivals, “Professor McGonagall, the Sorting Hat, if you don’t mind.”

An old man with a terrible hunchback, which Isabel assumed to be Finch, ran down the hall carrying a stool, followed by Professor McGonagall carefully carrying the mentioned hat in her arms. She put it down on the bench Filch has brought, and the hat seemed to come to life, greeting the new student’s and singing an ominous song about the future of Hogwarts.

“Great, great…” Dumbledore said somewhat sarcastically once the hat had finished his song, “Now, I understand this year we have a rather unusual situation when it comes to our Sorting Ceremony! We have a student who’s not a first-year being sorted!”

The whole room seemed to stare at Isabel, some curious, some suspicious, and some simply unimpressed, looking her up and down. She tried her best not to fall apart at the situation, hoping the blush in her cheeks wasn’t as obvious as she felt it would be.

“When I call out your name, step forward. You just sit on the stool and put the hat in your head. Once you’ve been sorted, join your housemates in your assigned table,” McGonagall cleared her throat, “Adams, Finn!”

The list continued alphabetically, and the scared kids were progressively leaving Isabel’s side as their names were called. She noted the audience’s reaction to each sorting. Gryffindor would usually get the loudest cheers, while Slytherin often got insults from the Gryffindor crowd. Isabel could sometimes hear the twins’ voices among the others, loudly booing the kids who were sorted into Slytherin. She was getting impatient. There weren’t many people left to be sorted, and she was starting to feel the whole hall’s gaze on her back, waiting expectantly for her turn to be sorted.

“Rodrigues, Isabel,” McGonagall finally called out her name.

She hesitated in her spot at first, scared of being watched by the whole school. She looked behind her, and then they were, on the first few seats of the Gryffindor table, her new friends, smiling at her, encouraging her to step forward, Fred even winking at her teasingly. She took a deep breath, gaining enough courage to go up to the stool. She lifted the Sorting Hat, setting it on top of her messy hair, confused at the silence in which it persisted.

“Hm…” the Hat exclaimed suddenly, startling the already fidgety girl, “Interesting, interesting… Intelligent, determined, a hidden bravery behind an introverted nature, I see… Oh, very resourceful… One could say wise beyond her years!” the Hat chuckled, causing Isabel to believe it was actually aware of her condition, probably from eavesdropping Dumbledore in his own office, “I know where you belong… A house where you’ll truly make the most out of your powers… Slytherin!”

The green-coloured table erupted in cheers. Isabel couldn’t help but smile. She noticed, however, the lack of booing she’d been preparing for. Looking at Gryffindor’s table, she saw nothing but her friends’ confused faces, staring at her. Fred’s mouth was agape, as if he was ready to celebrate but decided last minute not too. At that moment, Isabel knew exactly what she’d feared had come true.

“Welcome to Slytherin!” a girl squealed excitedly at her, “I’m _so_ excited to have a new roommate! I’m Pansy…”

“Isabel,” she shook the girl’s stretched out hand. The others soon followed, welcoming the new girl into their house.

“ _Hum_ …” Draco cleared his throat. He was the only one of the fourth year Slytherins who hadn’t greeted Isabel yet, and she knew exactly why, “I see we have a blood traitor in our house now…”

“Do I know you?” Isabel tried to discredit the blonde boy, but it only seemed to egg him on further.

“Don’t pretend you don’t remember me, because I _do_ remember _you_ …” his housemates stared at him, confused by his words, “She’s friends with the Weasleys. I wouldn’t be surprised if she were as much scum as them.”

Her housemate’s previous welcoming faces turned against her at this new development, leaving Isabel feeling out of place, hoping she could just go back to a couple of days before, when she was living her best holidays ever at the Burrow.

“Don’t worry,” the girl who sat beside her spoke softly, “They’re a bunch of stuck-up pricks, and Malfoy is the _worst_ of them all. My name’s Tracey Davis.”

“Hi… Thanks, really…”

“No need to thank me, I’m just glad I _finally_ have someone decent to share a dorm with.”

Suddenly, the kid’s plates magically filled up with delicious smelling food. Isabel was marvelled. The kids dove into their delicious food, practically licking the plate clean each time, only to have it magically fill up again. Isabel could hear Harry and Hermione’s loud chat coming from the Gryffindor table, and she crossed her fingers that she and her friend’s relationship would not suffer due to her being sorted into Slytherin.

“Students!” Dumbledore’s voice rang through the huge hall, “I have some very exciting news to share with you this year! I will start off by saying that Quidditch will be replaced by an event…”

“No Quidditch?” someone questioned.

“Boo! That sucks!” she heard the twins’ protests from the nearby table, interrupting Dumbledore, causing him to adjust his half-moon glasses in his nose, clearly annoyed.

“Silence!” he finally yelled, but was yet again interrupted by an ominous figure entering through the main doors, limping over to the teacher’s table, “Ah, just in time. This is Alastor Moody, your new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Make sure to give him a warm welcome.”

But his welcoming was short of that. Everyone seemed to be put off by his weird presence, as he stared with a rogue eye at the crowd. Finally, the man sat down. Dumbledore looked around the room, as if expecting another interruption.

“As I was saying, we are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.”

Cheers erupted across the room, some knowing what they were cheering for, some just joining in on the excitement. Dumbledore waved his hand, as if asking for the commotion to cease, and began to explain just what this event was to his students.

“… and so, Mr. Crouch, Mr. Bagman, as well as me and the other Headmasters have agreed that, for safety reasons, to participate in this tournament you’ll have to be over the age of seventeen…”

“That’s rubbish!” the twins interrupted again, booing even louder than they were before.

“Silence!” Dumbledore had had enough, “The decision is final. If you are over the age of seventeen, and wish to participate, all you will have to do is put your name on the Goblet of Fire, when the time comes.”

Isabel could still hear the twins’ faint whispering in protest, but they seemed to have realized that yelling was not the way to get what they wanted.

“Now, if that is all, off to bed!” Dumbledore dismissed them.

“Come on,” Tracey grabbed her by the arm, pulling her from the table and towards the hall doors, “I’ll show you the way to our common room!”

The girl’s exited the Great Hall before the rest of their housemates, Isabel would even say they were avoiding them, making their way down the grand staircase, walking towards a small door at the bottom. The door led them through a narrow corridor, with even more descending stairs. Finally, when Isabel felt like they might be at least a couple of storeys below the water of the lake, they came to a halt.

“Here it is!” Tracey pointed at the bare stone wall.

“How do you know?!”

“It’s tricky at first, but you just have to look for a lamp with a slightly green hue, see?” she pointed at the light that hung above their heads, “And then, say the password! Lucky I got it from our Prefect earlier. _Shrivelfig_!” with this, the stone slabs started moving aside, revealing the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

The two girls made their way inside the carpeted room, climbing down the stairs to reach the door that led them to the large underwater dungeon. Isabel wanted to take her time looking at her new common room, but Tracey seemed to be in a hurry, turning towards a corridor on her right. Isabel struggled to keep up, as the girl already had quite the head start on her.

“Where are we going?!” she panted.

“To our rooms, of course,” she said in a matter-of-fact manner, “Ours are downstairs, since we’re fourth years.”

“There are _more_ stairs?!”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” Tracey laughed, “Probably…”

They ran down the stairs to their dormitory, and Isabel noticed all her belongings were already set aside in one of the corners of the room.

“Cool thing about being early, we get to pick the best beds,” Tracey moved what Isabel assumed to be her trunk to a bed that stood in front of one of the big windows, overlooking the depths of the lake, “Come on, choose one before the others arrive!”

Isabel walked over to the bed right beside her, which was the last bed in the row, meaning she would have no neighbour to her left. She went to grab her trunk, but before she moved it, she noticed the new clothes that were folded on top of it. She picked up her Slytherin jumper, gloves, scarf, and patch. She unfolded her new uniform mindlessly, but stopped once she noticed a piece of parchment fall from withing the jumper.

‘Dear Isabel,

It has been a while since we last spoke. I am hoping you will care to join me in my office on Sunday for a chat. We have plenty to talk about. Does sunset sound alright?

Good luck,

Albus Dumbledore’


End file.
